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