Sunday, September 30, 2012

No Relief

This is way better than living in the van

I really don't know what more I can do to get a comment from the three Russian spambots who regularly visit my blog.

Never Been To Spain...or Greece...or Tibet

How many more years do I need to sing this song before I get to Spain? I'm not talking about the Ibiza-body-shots-of-Vodka Spain but the rural Spain where live Fascist bombs still act as landmarks on the market road and kids still hold doors open for old women.


Webs of crooked lies deceive our inner hero
the wounds of past trespasses lock doors to freedom
freedom belabors the inclimate military
reality is a broken catchphrase for meat manufacturers
cattle withdraw cash from temples of fraud
we are all double agents who have had our
memories erased.
Television tries to implant new memories of heroic deeds
but finds the spot occupied by dusty trauma

I can write the saddest lines tonight
because the rain washes into rivers of mute erosion
the glad rags of our lonely love affair
are burned in acrid despair
but the embers burn red and the ashes fertilize new seeds
sewn by new lovers inventing the language again and again
holding hands holding hearts

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Texas Drivers No Survivors

A customer said a cold front was coming to Corpus. I looked forward to it until 20 gallons of water poured into my window onto my guitar in thirty seconds. A cold front is what they call a monsoon. It actually wasn't cold at all and the humidity is currently unbearable. I'm certain my COPD is caused by chronic humid conditions that have crippled my lung capacity and led to a rasping wheeze. So, the drought is over in seconds and the waves wash over the front of my fender. I'm indifferent to the speeding cars and swerving trucks. Go ahead and hit me. Who fucking cares? Now the futile pick up trucks with nothing but sand in the bed make sense because the water can rise to two or three feet in a few minutes and these trucks plow through it to the next stop light or to get to the strip club. When I hit a puddle the water splashes under the engine compartment and irrigates the popcorn seeds I have growing under my seat. It's a sparse landscape of the bleak morality we call patriotism.

Billion Dollar Review

I drove my shitty Datsun 200sx into Beverly Hills to meet with John Updike's literary agent in a building that smelled like F. Scott Fitzgerald's spilled whiskey. I forget the agent's name now but he wanted to hire a cute, charming, 25 year old girl with great phone skills who would entertain his big name clients and cover scripts on the side and provide some eye candy for the slow days. Well, I've talked to cute, charming 25 year old girls, so I figured I was a good fit for the job.

Friday, September 28, 2012


"Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) is one of the most common lung diseases. It makes it difficult to breathe. There are two main forms of COPD: Chronic bronchitis, which involves a long-term cough with mucus ..."
I have been crippled with asthmatic conditions since my swim in the polluted Gulf of Mexico (fuck you BP all those pop up ads on The Onion will not redeem you motherfuckers. May all your children drown in refined oil) and my wrists are broken from fighting off the West Nile infected mosquitoes. I sleep in my mosquito net but it's 200 degrees now and the sweat fills my ear like syrup on pancakes giving me infections and deliberate Blepheritus and Halitosis of the mind.

Vocal Harmony Galore

There may not be a sabbath but there is gospel music which gladdens my heart. I almost wish I had once been awash in sin (gay sex in seedy motels, heroin use, spousal abuse) so I could be born again with conviction. As it stands I would merely be giving up the occasional naughty cheerleader video and taking the Lord's name in vain. Yawn!

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Minor Victories

The Firebird is growing on me as it is an introduction to modern vehicles (1999) It has 280,000 miles on it which makes me wonder why the owner wants to keep it alive. It ran badly and part of the problem was an EGR metal hose that I had never seen before so I didn't know that I had probably broken it when I forced it out of the fitting. It's a $50 part that I was luckily able to buy for $5 at the scrap yard down the street. The scrap vehicle had been in a head on collision with certain fatalities with the engine pushed over the EGR hose so I spent an hour getting it out. I reimbursed myself by stealing some special harness connectors that I broke, an oil pressure switch, and some fuses for the van. I also asked about a job. That sorted some of the vacuum problems out but the misfire continues so we ordered a coil pack and will see if that solves the main problem. It's now running alright. Everyone basically was saying it was bad gas and the parts needed to "mesh together" which is total lazy mechanic gibberish.

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Wing and A Prayer

We all dream of flying to the moon
 I'm eating 5 bean casserole that has been in my cooler since 2009. It tastes ok.

Oggy in the process of getting West Nile Virus. Texas Mosquitoes make no noise when they fly and are too light to feel. They land and suck my blood like oil field energy companies.
 I was in a rage and at the flea market and found a collectible chicken and rooster. Lonely thoughts and angry resentments made me haggle with the old man selling it. I brought it home to the van and lived with it for a few weeks conversing with it nightly as to a theraputic pet rock. This little chick stayed behind when I set the rooster free.
Time to spread my wings
When I was remodeling I hatefully threw him in the trash but today I hunted him down again and set him free too. Maybe he will be reunited with his family one day.

For Those Who Can't Be Here

Though we have mosquitoes infected with West Nile Virus and my arms are punished each night like a heroin junkie, when I hear a soft song from Zep IV and my work is done for the day then it's all worth it.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Comic Relief

The Firebird was up on a lift when a man came into the garage speaking Spanish.
J.R. jumped in to translate since he is bilingual. The guy evidently wanted to buy salvage cars and ship them to Mexico where they are chopped and tagged. After he left J.R. said that if he comes back then I should treat him right because he knew how to make a buck.
I was in the middle of reattaching a ground wire to the engine block with my hand way up behind the head and said dead-pan, "My Spanish book doesn't cover illegal exports to Mexico until Chapter Two."
Steve laughed as he welded a shoddy catalytic converter joint and asked what Chapter Three was.*
"Crystal meth manufacturing."
"And people wonder why Arizona is against multi-cultural education," mumbled Steve through a shower of sparks and cigarette smoke.
J.R. lit up a cigarette and ignored us. His eyes were filling with dollar signs. I dropped the bolt and swore.

* Chapter One is Pablo Neruda

Advice on Living in A Van

I don't recommend anyone live in a van. Let's get that out of the way first. Living in a van is reactive, it's a symptom of a greater disease that's too complicated to discuss here. Suffice to say, that society or urban living is the status quo, yet deeply unsatisfactory to many. So, the reaction is to combine urban living with a nomadic lifestyle in a modern conveyance. Migrating from one urban environment to another, or within one urban environment, alone, simplified to only what a covered wagon can carry, but driving a gas car. It makes no sense. Migrants in covered wagons were not migrating endlessly. They did live in and out of their covered wagon, but it was a necessity of the times. Now we're combining the 1860 era covered wagon lifestyle inside a modern vehicle, but literally driving in the tracks of history, either in reverse or otherwise. What the fuck? It's a messy solution and I can justify it because I intend to deconstruct the larger disease by providing myself isolation to focus. That's the only justification I can accept: you desire to withdraw from society. The reason you want to withdraw can be your own. The reasons are all variations of the same quest for contentment and belonging, contradicted by a suspicion you don't belong. I get it. But if this is not your reason then you will be distressed to learn that's what's going to happen no matter what you want. You will withdraw, you will drift, you will migrant, you won't belong, and that's why I don't recommend you choose to live in a van. You are choosing exile whether you think you are or not.

Now, if you want exile, as I do, then you have no choice because other styles of living will draw you back to society. But living in a van will alienate you from the bulk of society and it may be irreversible. I prefer to warn people of what they might be getting themselves into rather than tell them how to stay warm in the winter. Exile is the fate that waits for the one who lives in a van.

When I started the van blog in 2008 I was not aware of any online community of van dwellers reporting their experiences. Am I a pioneer? That's for history to judge. I've lived in vehicles off and on for 20 years, but ever since the covered wagon people have been living in vehicles. But the idea of reporting on the lifestyle is very new because except for a few rare essays that record the lifestyle, no one could very well film their entire life, edit it, and upload it to a public theater that anyone can watch at any time. Well, that's now possible. It was possible probably as early as 2006, when tube video formats began. Well, that would mean I was a 1st generation van blogger because 2007 was probably the earliest anyone had the idea to video and write a diary about living in a van, and one year later I made my first entry without having seen a single example of someone else doing something similar. In fact, I remember blogging about my plans to move into a van on a totally different blog, and it crossed my mind that with my digital camera and the video option on blogger, which I had lazily been updating since I moved to Los Angeles in 2004. So, the acceleration is obvious: 2004-first Oggy Blog. 2007-first easy youtube option. 2008 - Oggy moves into van and begins to blog about life in van for next 8 years. 2016 - Hundreds and hundreds of van dwelling bloggers actually funding their trip with donations. I didn't consider starting a channel on youtube because I am a writer and the video aspect was more for the music and some skits I was developing. I prefer the format of blogs to write essays, long form discussions and analysis. But I also accept this was bad instincts on my part. youtube channels with interesting videos, characters, skits, good music and good footage is the accepted model to gain an audience. If your desire is to 'go viral' then youtube is the way to do it, refine your abilities to connect via video essays or skits. As a writer I want to think the internet is a means to communicate longer essays, but this is not true in the case of van dwelling. People in general are visual, and van dwelling has the element of action that only video can capture. The deeper analysis is possible through an essay, but only if the writing is good. I wonder if my writing will last as digital cave scrawling. I don't know. I've seen a lot of average attempts to be entertaining...that reminds me of my first mandate: entertain. When I started the blog I had to decide how I was going to frame the entries. What was my attitude? At first it was theatrical, and false. I was trying a personality out that I thought might be entertaining. I only leave those posts published to demonstrate my humble beginnings. I was aiming for a comedy skit but the first posts seem more desperate and false. Being homeless reduced the way I could write, and I had no mobile access so everything involved a visit to the library for free internet access. It was tedious, nothing like today where kids post their morning videos instantly, live chatting their breakfast, instantly edit videos. It took me hours to post anything and it involved many attempts to upload the video and them embed the link. It didn't work many times and required more than one attempt. It was new and tedious and I only persevered because I thought it would be at least a good record of my origins with the van so I could look back on it. I thought the idea itself had potential but that fortune would never make my blog popular. Maybe my blog isn't popular because I write too much, too many words, not entertaining enough for the short attention span. Yes, I can see that.

I don't ever see myself accepting donations because it poisons my creativity. I'm not above taking money, but the idea distracts me and affects my thought process and creative output. So, the cost is not worth the benefit.

I'm rambling because it's late and I've become nocturnal and there is mold growing on my ego and I want to memorize the melody to Tangerine, and I love Nat King Cole.

6 More Cylinders to Feed

I feel a small sense of accomplishment at the successful removal and overhaul and installation of this Firebird motor but the end result is another 6 cylinders the dead lizards of the Pleistocene Period must feed with their compressed bones and habitat. I'm not proud of that because if melting ice caps and vanishing wheat belts are not important then we can safely say nothing is important. And Fox new is very intent with their diabolical propaganda to lull fresh faced ass fuckers into thinking cellulite and new cell phone gadgets and stock prices (ungodly cross marketing and propaganda in the ugly style of newsertainment and junk journalism masquerading as underwear ads and cosmetic surgery to remove laugh lines from your ass face) but keep watching that junk food for the withered brain and blighted worldview. No, let's put more cars running along in futile disregard of safety and sophistication. I test drove the Firebird up the road and would not trade my moped's broken headlight for it.

Monday, September 24, 2012

Super Powers

The morning begins at 5:50 when the Kansas City coal train shatters the calm with its horn as it crosses the NPID access road. Oggy rolls out of bed in much less pain and discomfort than when he suffered with his head in a corner and his feet on the wood stove. He stretches his scar tissue out and massages his fingers in the Chi Gong healing tradition. Oggy is not healthy in the traditional sense but his priorities technically include mental and physical health since his grandfather insisted that health was the only thing that matters. Stretching is the only health regime that Oggy needs to follow since his day is generally 11 consecutive hours of grueling physical labor. That is when his Super Power Underoos come in handy.From 6 am onward the day is total chaos.

Italian American Moped

Foxconn Riot

This is where I would write an essay correlating the recent foxconn riot to the global demand for digital products and how it is out of touch with human behavior. We want 3D cinemas inside air conditioned battle ships and so we sacrifice Asian peasants whose land was flooded to feed a hydroelectric plant that will provide power to the factory where the peasant now works making 3D projectors. And they are supposed to be gracious they were given the opportunity to assemble digital products, something I've only known maybe three or four Americans to actually do full time and they all had their souls reduced to lithium but do not hesitate to fund the industry that suffocates and destroys Asian lives.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Open For Business

The oil pick up tube moments before Oggy blocks it off with gasket material.
 The sound of aluminum doors opening in the Texas morning is one of those sounds that will stay with me like the horrible sound of someone banging on my door reminds me of emergencies in the Merchant Marines when I was needed on deck during my 6 hours of sleep time. I'd wake up half asleep and stumble into total chaos of a deck piled with gear and pipes and rain and huge waves washing sharks onto our feet and I'd reach for my gloves and hit my head against something heavy and steel and I'd be awake and angry while literally 45 seconds earlier I'd been asleep and at peace. The aluminum doors make an unpleasant sound.

Rookie Mistakes

In Mechanic Years I am a newborn. Working on individual cars such as my van and the grand marquis and a saab here and there really means I own the tools to work on cars but the skills will be sporadic. It's a dirty job made more dirty by lack of training and flawed procedure. I proudly made my own gasket for the oil pick up tube and installed it to torque spec but after installing the engine and nearly finishing the whole reassembly I looked at the gasket material and thought, "Did I cut a hole in the middle?" And I knew 99% sure that I had totally fit the gasket on there and trimmed it and then bolted the pick up tube to the engine galley without actually cutting a hole in the middle so the pick up tube could act as a tube. Essentially I had put a gasket on in order to ensure no oil returned to lubricate the pistons and connecting rods, ensuring engine failure and death in maybe 40 miles. This is why I like buying real parts but they insisted any gasket material would do. But just be sure to make the gasket look like the stock gasket and not a piece of felt covering the hole. Oh, the hours I just spent in dirty oil bonding with this 1999 Pontiac Firebird.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Caldo de Pollo

To celebrate the fact me and J.R. ( my mechanic partner) got the engine out of the Firebird I rode the moped to El Mexicano where the menu was a classic gradient style of orange and yellow. The waitress spoke English to me but Spanish to everyone else. Caldo was on the specials menu and since I'm not made of money I ordered it with Fanta. This chicken soup comes with chicken on the bone and I made the party at the next table grimace in disgust and revulsion as I devoured the chicken bones like a starving street dog. The music was Shakira and Los Tigres Del Norte. There was no Jarritos nor a salsa bar with serve yourself grilled jalapenos which is my favorite, but the food was good with bonus tortilla chips that made me reminisce about the fried wantons at the Chinese restaurants where my ill mannered behavior was enough to make the old owner give me the evil eye.


Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Oddest Text Message

"Tell Mrs. Forrer she isn't getting her penguin pencil holder"

This message came to me anonymously from someone in Denver who seems to have the wrong number. Either that or I'm living an alternate life while I sleep...but mistakenly am using the same phone for both lives. I wonder if my alternative life is more interesting since I'm a message taker for unsophisticated things like penguin pencil holders. Maybe I'm more content in my other life. Maybe I share videos of cats playing with dogs. I should text back and say, "You better give Mrs. Forrer her penguin pencil holder back or I'm going to kick your ass."

But I'm afraid it will reflect badly on my alternate persona.

Oggy's Unhealthy Infatuation With The Past Still Haunts Him

Given Popcorn wrappers on unsettled nights
taken paved roads when dirt roads called
looked back on the dirt roads and wondered if
the choice was a predilection or an instinct
safer choice or possible the salvation of man?

Though the safer choice led to heartbreak and
misled destruction, humiliation and lonely roads
through political turmoil, a depressed land
people living on the garbage of divorce lawyers
the belly of the gluttonous and unsophisticated masses
expands with pompous flatulence.

Oggy is a child raising himself to be the man
who could raise a child.
But this is backwards and the accessory of a child
would not make him a man or even a belabored child.
It would merely make him en vogue with the trends
of modern superfluity. But his mistakes could be shared.
with his blighted offspring.

With no future in the growing bones of an innocent child,
Oggy clings to the past, mistakes and philosophical slights
childish upheavals, hurtful remarks take personally
sunglasses betrayed in spiteful misery.

Oggy repents.
Oggy rants.
Oggy sings.
Oggy prays.
Oggy sleeps.
Oggy ponders.
Oggy eats.
Oggy loves.
Oggy hates.
Oggy gives a Damn.

Oggy's Wounded Inner Torque Converter

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Robe and Crown

We Shall Wear a Robe and Crown... The Nelons pretty much slam dunk this song. The recording I have does a better job mixing the background singers but it's evident this is the music that will usher you into heaven. It's got like five flawless key changes. I'm saving up for lessons in this style of music because it's southern gospel but basically Western without the Swing. Fast tempo to best lift up your spirits in the presence of the Lord and make you give witness and praise to the Almighty.

Monday, September 17, 2012


I don't know why someone would own a Pontiac Firebird with 3'' of clearance under the exhaust. This bitch has been kicked around like a stripper at a Duke University keg party. It was blowing water out the tail pipe like a faucet. First one mechanic decided the heads were bad. They replaced the heads and it still blew water. So they replaced the whole block. And it still blew water out. So that mechanic has since been fired or quit and burned bridges and now we use his tools while he collects unemployment checks since there's nothing but disorder in the mechanic world.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Lava Lamp

I didn't have a lava lamp in my Greg Brady adolescence. I am from New England where you were considered a hippy if you liked The Beatles. They didn't make Red Sox Lava Lamps. But I'm digging the lava lamp now that I have a power source. From the outside my van looks like an oasis in the desert with painted gates to reveal a comforting home where gypsies play music and steal your wallet but leave you with a smile and a fortune of widsom and a

Upbeat Blues

I'm like a codependent junkie who thrives on abuse so I give and give and it briefly entertains a handful of people and I crawl on bleeding knees trying to get affirmation. I actually fleshed this song out a bit in a blues fashion with a kind of bridge. It's a song and as soon as I get my piano then I'm going to be all set to record a few tracks. *The metal fabricator guy who is also a mechanic to the bone claims to be a musician. I'm going to get a piano and find out. There is no way I'm going to change oil in crappy '92 chevy pick up trucks without a piano waiting for me nearby. And I may make it a shop rule that I will not work on any truck that has a sticker of Calvin pissing on a Ford logo.

11 Bucks
words and music by Oggy Bleacher

simulated sex on a Saturday night
there's a rumor going round that Chico's shit is out of sight
there's a rumor going round that Chico's shit will blow your mind
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.

writing love letters to girls who are dead
my pencil is broken it don't got no lead
my pencil is broken but the eraser works fine
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.

there's a ringing in my head been going on for years
got a cold cup of coffee and a warm glass of beer.
got a cold cup of coffee and it tastes fine
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.

My vocal chords are bleeding I got razors in my shoes
my inner child is bleeding because he's got the blues
my inner child is bleeding, a victim of a crime
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.
and if you've got 11 bucks then I've got the time.

Friday, September 14, 2012

Pay Day

The boss handed me $50. I asked what it was for.
"Twenty five an hour. For the work on that ignition cylinder on the Chevy Cheyenne and the alternator on the narc car. And the work on my tow truck."
Three days ago I was fired by a job that paid $10 an hour.
"If I'd known I was getting paid I would've done a better job."
The boss laughed. He once ran a corporate factory service department and I am wearing a pirate headband and my name tag is a punchpin embroidery patch that says "Econoline".

Let it Be

IN this chapter Oggy determines mankind must run its course. An apocalyptic holy war is on the horizon and the only trace of civilization will be Capri Sun pouches and gold teeth from rap musicians. Our folly will be the God's entertainment and our greasy knuckles will not appease the lords of virtue. Take an ounce of deprivation and add a cup of ego and you get the mad designs of men. Joseph Knetch investigated his society's ultimate activity and found it to be basically flawless except that with in the context of the world, it had little impact, so he assigned himself the role of ambassador to the outside world. Oggy has investigated his society and found it haphazard and mostly a base manipulation of ideals, more crooked than a bar room pool cue. The flock is tugged in one direction then another.
This black sheep is a mechanic now.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Watch Out

I was determined to see if I could get internet access in the repair bay...and I succeeded. Officially, the Coastal Bend of Texas has the worst weather I've ever lived in. The most inhospitable place ever. 110 degrees every day. 70% humidity. Then a rain storm comes through that swamps the entire area. Then the heat comes back and it's 90% humidity. If there were no oil and natural gas reserves here the place would be deserted. It's awful. There hasn't been a nice day of weather since last October. So we're going to destroy the atmosphere so 1% of the population of earth can digitally connect with fake friends and live phony lives while trading fake currency? Is that the plan? And people really wonder why I'm trying to find something authentic. If you are not outraged then you are too plugged in.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

In Other News

The Onion proved today that 9/11 jokes are still premature.

Remodeling Vans For Free

I should have a show: This Old Van
and I work with homeless people who are trying to keep their vans running. It would be way cooler than that show about remodeling houses occupied by snobs who want to better see their private part of the beach. For example, all the work would be done in a Walmart parking lot. That would make some interesting interactions with police and security. Especially since the work would be done at night. How funny would that be? Kids crying...drugs...everyone drunk...nothing works right...police...warrants...laughs...broken van and the guy wants more space for a pot grow room. Call Oggy!

Eleven Bucks

Recorded a song but they are kicking me out of the library. It has the lyrics..."My pencil is broken but my eraser works fine."

I should literally have this video be a pay per view along with WWF and Captain Lou Albano with rubber bands in his beard should pay me personally. It cost me dearly to upload it to you hippy freeloaders.

Anyway, I'm determined and motivated to release this early version which will probably never be developed due to my upcoming sun stroke and malnourishment of the soul. My iPod has been shuffling through the early albums of Tom Waits, the albums where you can still understand the words, and I've determined that he's neither concerned with the music or with the lyrics but enters a kind of trance that attunes his mouth to his ear and he begins to basically pray a hobo's song. I was underneath a broken Toyota that had spend some time in the Gulf of Mexico. The insurance company reached a settlement with the tow truck driver and paid him $10K and gave him the truck. He said he wants to get it going again by which he means he wants me to get it going again because he doesn't have the time. He gives me random projects like checking bearings and fixing generators and turning the flywheel on a drowned Toyota.* And deep in thought, far from the evil Oggy twin brother/self inflicted denial monster who preys on the kinder and gentler monk of my nigh shadows, these words came from my mouth involuntarily..."Simulated Sex on a Saturday Night. There's a Rumor going 'round that Chico's shit is out of sight."
If I could do that all the time I'd be as unpopular as Tom Waits.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Stockholder Mentality vs Social Equity

I've reached the conclusion that the fundamental problem with society is the Stockholder Mentality, which is the opposite of Social Equity. Gandhi is no longer the crowned king of philanthropy. No, the social activist award has to be given to Sir Wilfred Grenfell of Labrador via England. His work was done on the behalf of god and the only profit he earned was the ability to live in a thriving healthy society. If you think that is not enough profit then you are a fucking asshole who probably owns Apple stock. I'm not done investigating the source of this poisonous mental delusion that would make someone invest in a company with the sole aim of benefiting financially. It's childish and fucked up and selfish and pathetic. That our whole country's economic system is basically one of rampant exploitation in order to better reward a handful of stockholders is proof that something is terribly wrong. 1940 America was absolutely no different than today. Proportionately there is the same amount of poverty and working class poor. If you say that the standard of living is better it's probably because your standard of living is primarily provided for by strangers working their asses off in fields that you will never see doing work that you'll never appreciate. The demand of procreating has led to an abundance of labor that lowers wages. It's simple math to see that not everyone can own their own electrical repair business and not everyone can be an electrical repair man. The pizza price war in NY goes on everywhere with plumbers underbidding each other until death.

Narc Car

Bitter irony, homeless man replacing an alternator on a police interceptor.

This job sucked. I reek of human shit right now.

Bringing back the '70s!

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Apes Watching Porn

Ape handlers at the Washington D.C. zoo reported that the apes who were given iPads as an enrichment program were found to be surfing porn sites within 5 minutes and after 10 minutes were engrossed in anal gangbang videos.
"We thought it would take them at least a few days," said a handler as she turned her head to give a 500 pound mountain Gorilla some privacy as he furiously masturbated.
Within a day of the start of the experiment all the Ipads had to be restored as the they had ceased to work from virus attacks.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012


My tenure at the trailer park ended without much fanfare. No ceremonial watches or long speeches. I cleaned out my refrigerator that I'd packed with food and split 15 minutes before 5. I didn't even cry over that $2.50 I left behind because I took that many gatorades along with me.

I also purchased and have my blog published there now. It turned out was already registered. It dawned on me that the blogspot domain reeked of cheapskate, which is what I am, but a domain only costs $3 a year so really I'm not that cheap. I also wanted more exposure because I'm tired of arguing with only Roslindale and seeing 7 people read something I wrote in three hours. It's bullshit. This probably won't make any difference but I'm trying.

I'm looking for riders to Mexico. You have to be a philosopher and interested in winning the war on drugs in Mexico through literature and love and bongo drumming. We can make a difference! And you have to have some money or be willing to learn to knit and make arty belt buckles and wear gypsy clothes.

Saturday, September 1, 2012


I'm living in the desert. Baby leaf footed bugs live in my van. They hatch on my moped. I'm hungry. I'm working but even with no overhead I'm shockingly broke. I pinch every penny but the man wants two nickles. I don't drive anywhere. I've managed to reduce gas costs to $2 a day by parking near my work. When I first started I was driving 30 miles a day and spending $10 in gas. Now I drive 2 miles a day and spend on average $2. I'm doing this out of necessity but it will become a requirement soon. The insanity of driving as you please and commuting is killing everything in the world. There is a war in Asia but no one seems to care. There are no sacrifices being made except by the men with guns. This is not a "land of plenty" anymore. Maybe it never was. That's a fable told to immigrants looking for work. It's bullshit and the reality is men filtering water from coolers in vans, working to be poor. My advice to anyone is to stay where you are. America is totally oblivious to reality. "Land of opportunity" is a marketing slogan, not a fact.

Asia uffet

No, I didn't break in. This is as busy as this mall gets.

A Conversation

I was taking a shower the other day in the one public bathroom in town. It's a cement block affair with a floor drain and good water pressure so I fill up my water bottle and pour it over myself. I have to be fast because the police substation is directly outside the door. The toilet has no door so it's basically unused. I don't mind using the city water because currently one of the urinals is running non-stop due to a leaky valve. It runs and runs and I'd need to shut the water off to the bathroom and get a new valve if I wanted to fix it. I could do it but I can already hear the conversation I'd have with the city planners as I explained what I was trying to do. No, it's better to take my shower, soap up my ball sack and shuffle out dripping wet into the 99 degree heat. It's not like I strip down naked to be stumbled upon by an 11 year old playing in the park. God, that would be hard to explain. No, I wear my swimsuit and since the swimming pool is right outside I think it's safe to do this. I'm not taking any pictures of this process because that would be impossible to justify to the cops. Really, there is no other solution except gathering the water in my jug and taking it to a deserted lot to take my shower. I've done that also but since no one uses this bathroom I'm sticking with the status quo.

Capri Sun Celebrates Anniversary

Capri Sun released an announcement celebrating 30 years of frivolous waste and environmental destruction in America.

"We are proud to say that despite all rational explanation Americans have been purchasing our drink concentrate pouches for 30 years and quickly disposing of the packaging in the most damaging way possible," the statement declared. "Even though the drink pouch offers a pathetic 6 ounces of liquid (and at least 1 ounce of that is impossible to enjoy due to the narrow and short straw we provide) and even though the drink is purely a sugar-based, non-carbonated soda alternative with only trace amounts of natural ingredients, and the pouch is indestructible and can not be recycled, Americans still love them!"

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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.