Flooring...

Who said two homeless guys can't do good work?
We had to work our rent off by replacing the flooring in the upstairs bathroom. It had a hole in it for 20 years and suddenly Mary thinks the world will end if we don't fix it in 3 hours. Those nine tiles took us 4 hours. But then she hangs out and bothers us for two hours. Then we have to haggle over what it is worth. What a nightmare! Just imagine that scene with the couch cover and multiply the insanity by 100. Sean did most of the work. I just griped about life...
I wish I'd stayed in bed...



Here's mary's bathroom that I did alone. She kept saying, "What you need to do is..." and I said, "If you know what I need to do then you should do it. Here. Take the scissors. I'm gonna go beat off in my bed."
That shut her up.

Here's Mary's cat, Garfield. No, he doesn't eat lasagna. He's got some kind of hip problem.

Laconia Comic

I don't know if this will be readable...

but maybe if you click on it so it becomes a picture alone and then hit "control+" to magnify it
then it becomes more readable....
I had to cut it in half and then scan it and then paste it into paint and then shrink it so now it's a mess.



Maybe I'll put both sections here so they might be bigger and more readable. Yeah, these are way more clear. Click on them and then hit control+ to enlarge or Control- to shrink. If only stick figures were considered good art! If there is an illustrator out there who wants to collaborate on a graphic novel then contact me. It'll be Harvey Pekar and R. Crumb.

Got a call from an old friend...we used to be real close

It's important to keep moving. Even though living at the group home has given me some perspective it has also led to some bad habits, such as blogging in a stream of consciousness, unpublishable, rambling, hateful manner. I apologize. I don't apologize for the excessive drinking, but I'd classify that as a bad habit.

It's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll. That's what AC/DC says. And it's hard to know where you are in the climb. So you just keep climbing. Bruce Springsteen keeps playing because he believes his best work is ahead of him. That's what I have to believe. The best work, the best years, the best ideas are somewhere down the road. I'd even settle for good work. I've had a few jobs and at some point it feels like, no, that was it, that was as good as it's gonna get.

As a deckhand the major test was lassoing a davit on the deck with a 3.5 inch line...while the boat was moving. That's a big line. I guess it's the same size, maybe a little bigger, than a gasoline hose. It's big. I could barely get my hands around it and then as we bumped up against the dock I would toss the line OVER the bulwark aiming for the davit. IF we were close and moving slow I could just drop it on, but sometimes the boat moved and I had to throw it. And...as soon as the line hooked the davit I had to lash it around a davit on the supply vessel...and this had to be done in no longer than 5 seconds because if I lassoed the dock and then we bounced off the deck and I didn't get the line around the davit on the ship in time then we would just drift away because the captain could only do so much to get us close without destroying the dock. But the worst was if I just managed to get the davit on the ship lashed and it tightened with me nearby because those 4 inch lines stretched almost half of their length and became as small as a garden hose with the potential force, so I was told, to cut me in half.
So one morning after perhaps 30 hours of shoveling concrete dust and navigating and cooking and washing dishes and cleaning the heads I was on the deck, no shirt, fingers bleeding, the sun just coming and I picked up that line and lassoed the dock at like 20 feet. I mean, I heaved the line high and long and it flipped perfectly and fell over the davit. I lashed the boat on and then ran to get the bow line. (you do the stern first as we had bow thrusters)
The captain got on the intercom and said, "nice shot, Snap." they call all deckhands "Snap" because, "When they food, the deckhan' be on the plate like snap. when they work, the deckhan' be gone like snap." said the bearded Chief Engineer from Florida with a snap of his fingers.
That was as good as it got...
And it's impossible to know if I was right because I left. The tree planting job, for instance. That peaked out at the very end but I don't think I'd do that again. This esoteric approach to work does cause problems with employ-ability and job skills. I never did master the art of being a deck hand. I just got to the point where I knew what to expect, routinely, and was able to get some work done. Basic training lasts 6 weeks. I was basically in basic training for 6 months with a new drill sergeant every two weeks. I suppose it would've gotten easier or else I would've moved up in job titles. Maybe I'm afraid of that, of getting sucked into climbing a ladder. I like starting out on the first few rungs and that gives me enough exposure to the rest of the ladder to know the captain earned that job with time and application. There are no short cuts to being a captain.
I've seen ads for linesman jobs. That's a respectable trade with high skills from start to finish. There is literally no dimension of linesman jobs that is easy and there are unlimited applications. But you have to survive the first five years...which isn't a guarantee. Still, for a rugged man with good concentration I would recommend the linesman job. In my next life I think I will be a linesman and I will read western novellas and play the fiddle to my sweetheart.

email I sent to my spam friend

you want negative feedback? stop sending me shitting spam on my blog. you cunt! fuck you! fuck your fucking cunt! I hate you for your spamification. can you please buy a brain with all the money you are making. you cunt!
buy a brain and then go out and make real money you whore. stop spamming people you whore...
stop
stop stop stop
stop
or I will get my spam buddies who will fill your inbox with 10,000 spam porn viagra messages every day. is that what you want, you cunt? fuck you.
stop sending me these spam emails on my blog.
do you understand that my blog is completely anti-you??
everything about my blog is opposed to your method of living. Fuck you!
fuck you fuck you.
stop it.
stop spamming me
stop trolling the internet for a quick buck.
please stop
get a real job
you whore
you cunt

every time I get a spam on my blog I will call you a cunt and send you an email. that is your call. fuck you!


I did actually send this email to the website behind those get rich quick spam messages that have been showing up on this blog. I know the person is not actually reading my blog and posting them. It's a spam bot that basically trolls blogs without those "enter the message" devices that stops spam bots. I'm not really that annoyed by the spam. It's harmless...useless really since the only people who read this blog are shiftless losers.
But I'd been drinking and attacking Steve Jobs and really, whoever you are, it was bad timing. See? Two weeks ago I didn't care but when I post something and five minutes later you leave your spam turd on my door I flipped out.
While I'd probably get the same response with, "Please stop spamming me." I used some harsh language. Yes, I feel spam bots are repulsive but ...I don't know. I guess I didn't think the person would respond or ever read this email. But she did.
She said she would stop spamming me if I sent her my url. which I did. I wonder if it will get worse or better. hard to say.
Is it my fault she programs a spam bot to place these gross ads on my blog? This really isn't a private blog. It's public. But don't I have some say in what is placed on it? Yes, I can delete her ad, but the very idea of these get rich quick schemes is behind so many problems. It's a baseless.

but here is a clip from her site...
"My name is Helen, five years ago I divorced my husband. The kid with me, and making all ends meet was a horrible task to do at first, for I had long stopped working anymiore after my daughter was born. I even felt a depression, senselessly trying to fina out what kind of job I would like to find and what was available at that time in the market. My college in finances was long, long time ago, the kid took all my time and efforts."

I mean...she's from Spain or somewhere and I call her a cunt. I didn't really mean it. But placing ads, selling things for other people, it's one of those phantom industries I loathe because it's all board room marketing with everything directed to convincing you that you need something you probably don't need. Like I said, it's bad timing and her spam bot is to blame for us even communicating at all. See? It's this damn computer! She and I have nothing to say to one another but the program brought us together. Maybe it's trying to set us up. is that possible? Should I ask her on a date? Should I trust her spam robot?
I don't know. I think I burned that bridge when I called her a cunt ten times in a row.
But she claims to make $2-3 grand a day. What the hell? 300K a year and she's got to be dealing with a low life like me? See, so either she's a liar or stupid or she's set loose a stupid spam robot. Either way this is no good.
Damn it! I feel like a dirt bag. I'll think about it tomorrow.
I've thought of it and it's very likely this is some consortium in Brazil who are neither from Spain or any of these claims. That's possibly just the front for some get rich quick site. I mean, does it sound more appealing if I tell you I was down on my luck and got rich with this method? Like one day I'm a divorced depressed single mother, and the next I'm making $200K. Almost sounds too good to be true. Like those porn sites that say, "Secret video of my ex girlfriend." Well, I've seen that same girl sucking dick in like ten different videos so...either you're an asshole for thinking your girlfriend was faithful, or SHE NEVER WAS YOUR GIRLFRIEND.
See, the internet is almost all lies.
I wish I could say I had the imagination to invent a life for Oggy Bleacher and really I sell office supplies for a day job and this hellish group home is in my imagination. But I've told you before that I have no imagination. I'm living the life I want to write about because I could never in a million years invent these things. You could almost say I was fact checking stories by Jack London and George Orwell and Kerouac and Steinbeck. They didn't have imaginations either. (maybe Orwell did) They just wrote what they saw.
So, if the lady really is a lady then I'm sorry I called you a cunt. That wasn't polite and your offense was not so deep that I had to attack you. Honestly, I thought you were like the people I worked with in Van Nuys, a ruthless group of Israelis who spoke Hebrew and counted their nickles and spammed everyone and cut corners and sent spam bots out with impunity. Those guys were cunts. They promised me a car and I ended up taking the bus home after I quit...they would've had me pretend I was personally assembling those crappy mini motorcycles in my garage if it meant they'd sell more.
But if you are really a group of people who invented a depressed single mother persona as your mascot and you just pay a Brazilian $.25 for every ad they place by randomly searching ads and placing spam...then...refer to my above email.

confederacy of dunces

I was drinking. is that not my right as an adult??
and I read from confederacy of dunces as ONLY I CAN READ IT. But it was written by John Kennedy O'Toole who sucked exhaust from a car and died like David Foster Wallace.

I am the only person you will ever meet who understands the linguistics of confederacy!
And here it is. this is as rare as you will get. A master reading from a master. I UNDERSTAND this book. I have lived this book. I KNOW this book! And I don't like to talk about this book because it is unsophisticated to gossip. So this is a one time only view into my worldview that includes this book, I won't revisit this sober. why would I??
But I know this is how this book is supposed to be read. This is it. I've got the exact interpretation!@
I once took a ferry from Metaire to Alexandria to donate blood to make money to buy gasoline. It's an old story.
and the man I met who also gave blood had stolen steak from a market and sold it to the deckhand on the ferry. We agreed that life was what you made it.
"Ain' no one gon hep tha po man," he said. "But hissef."
I stayed the night in the worst homeless shelter I've ever stayed in,
I wore pajama pants that were 50 inch waist. I'm a 34. So I tied the waist in a knot and shuffled around the metal cots.
We ate bologna sandwiches that smelled bad.
The shower rooms were obscene. I pretended I showered by splashing water on my hair.
the soap was green.
the water smelled.
a heavy man tried to give me a blowjob but I said no.
I slept with my shoes under my head because of fear of theft.
someone stole my t-shirt
several people got food poisoning. I myself was sick. Why didn't I leave? They locked us in...or locked the world out. Either way, I was trapped.

early in the morning I got up and left and threw a 25$ New Orleans parking ticket into the trash and drove to Houston. In Houston I went to the YMCA and didn't get a room. Instead I slept near a Korean grocery and drank soybean milk until I got a lead on a job in Galveston. I drove to Galveston. I'd never been there. But a Texan gave me a job on a supply vessel and that started a career as a merchant marine. I was fired within a week but I managed to keep my job through willpower. I was fired but I just stayed on the boat because I had nowhere else to go. Eventually they paid me.
I slept on the beach and in a fine old house with a widow's watch where you could see the ocean...
we shipped out of New Orleans and played billiards in a Louisiana bar, drinking, smoking, speaking ill of our ex-girlfriends, and made it back to the boat on time. Some men didn't make it back in time.
The house in Galveston had a widow's watch and I fell asleep surrounded by... playboy centerfolds. yes.
and penthouse. They weren't mine but I didn't complain.
and it was 110 degrees. I had a leaky air conditioning unit.
I slept hard because I had taken a xanax back pain pill because I had pulled a muscles and could not walk...
and slept until a Mexican woman woke me
"Why are you here?
The air conditioning was positioned so it blew cold air on my naked body...
"The owners gave me the key." I lied
I call them, she said
"ok," I said as I put my shorts on.
and she called...
I said, "One moment. I will get the lease agreement out of my car."
and I got in my car and drove away because I had broken into the house with the help of a guitar playing captain who had once rented the house and had the key. but he no longer rented the house. This was a mess for everyone involved but I fondly remember a corner store, "Chong's Market" that had pickles and beer and also these fried spring rolls and I lived on those spring rolls for a week and slept in the house with the widows watch in Galveston, drinking beer and watching the ships come home as the breeze cooled me, until the Mexican lady came with her child. Her son or daughter discovered me first passed out among the porn and cold air. I was dead to the world and awoke with a child looking at me...
There was also an Caulfield-esque incident with a prostitute and a performance of "The Sound of Music"
Sometime last year the house was destroyed in a hurricane.
and also the french quarter rescue mission with the bologna sandwiches that made everyone sick...it was also destroyed...
This is why I, and no one else, can read from Confederacy of Dunces...
enjoy!