venture

I don't want anyone to think I'm getting too serious so here's a sample of today's scores. I actually got 108,140 but the game crashed and had to be unplugged. What, you aren't as stunned as I am?
IN other news Star Castle was unplugged because like an idiot I requested it get repaired. Ha! Their idea of repairing it is to unplug it. It will get repaired right after they realize there is a gigantic wave of people coming down from space who want to play Star Castle. Right! There's another game, Mouse Trap, I think, that has been down for two months because of some glitch. I've sabotaged my own attempt. Hell, there was already dust on the buttons. I'm the only person in New Hampshire playing it.
Well, it gave me a chance to concentrate on Venture and while some advances have been made I think the game itself has limitation. Other than crashing every once in a while the controller is a mess. The arrows pass through the serpents (not snakes). And the difficulty level must be on the absolute highest setting because the trolls dance like the floor is on fire. I can't figure out what deaths are caused by my lack of skill or by the controller. One or two more sessions will decide that. I was rolling and swearing like the old days. I had to laugh because on a Saturday night there were some skiers in there and a few others but really only two or three true gamers. One was focused on Donkey Kong. When he would die he would shout "Fuck!". And at the same time I would get touched by a hall monster and Yell "No no no no no!" and pound the console. Then we looked at each other and you would think we would laugh at ourselves but I pointed to the controller like "Not my fault." and he shook his head in deep sympathy. He and I were both around 40 years old. The we returned to our games. I'd like to say our girlfriends walked by and we said, "Just a minute, baby. Look what level I'm on." but ha! The closest to some pussy I got tonight was the Mrs. Pac Man machine.

I got some chicken fingers to celebrate the completion of some work. I'm almost completely broke and the van needs a new battery but I've got direct deposit and that means I've got enough money to eat. And there is a bluegrass band at the local bar. The black cat. I asked a girl in small press assembly to meet me there. Her accent is so New Hampshire I just love her.
"Me an anothah girl was s'posed tah meet fah lunch, honey. Burgahs and whatnoht. Oooh, look at thaht cah." It's poetry.

Sign of the Times

Forgive the racial stereotyping, but it's too funny to make fun of those fine Asian folk assembling our computers.
If I were totally uncaring I would get some T shirts made (in China) and sell them at Hampton Beach. For now it'll be our little joke.

Letter to Congresswoman Jane Harman (D) of Calif.

I'm no longer a resident of Calif. but that didn't stop me from getting on my rep's case. Come on! Write to your rep and tell them to stop stealing food from you.


"Dear Mrs. Harman,
Simply put, allowing Walmart, Kmart and Toyota to import products to the California without substantial taxes is not in the best interest of California. I wish it were because I enjoy paying merely a small percentage above cost for consumables. BUT, in the long run the loss of jobs to overseas manufacturing is the #1 problem. Companies can transfer out of California because that is the way to be competitive. I realize putting restrictions on companies is not technically a free market policy, but is allowing 700,000 Americans to lose their jobs while the Chinese and Indians make products destined for A San Diego Walmart part of the free market policy? That just sounds like a government run by future Fortune 500 CEOs padding their pockets. Something has to change. Either make learning Chinese in public schools mandatory so children can go get their parents' jobs back in Shanghai or else make outsourcing to China cost prohibitive. Please! There was a reason cotton was cheap in 1820. Don't make me be ashamed to buy a christmas toy for my kid. I'd rather not be able to afford it and I'm not alone."

A=A

There are two parts to solving a problem. A) Identify the problem. B) Solving the problem. Guess which part most people are good at?

Lord, this is George Bailey. Please God. Give me Mary back.

You have two options to read this post. Option A is the verse version, immediately below. Option B is the Prose Version which is down further. They are both the same. I think.


Verse Version
Rock bottom was arrived at again today. I was fleeing Cyberdyne (my employer whose real name shall not be published because I

signed a non disclosure agreement. FYI Cyberdyne is the Terminator manufacturer)
Anyway. I was not really fleeing but going to check on my van which was vanishing in the great blizzard of '09. but it felt

like fleeing because, well, I'll get to that.
I fell in the snow, slipping, my legs splayed on the black ice. I heard myself groan as my tendons stretched like plastic

trash bags over broken glass.
Ah! Fuck!
No one was around to see me. Nihilism surrounded me. I struggled up and laughed at the situation. Alone in a white out, the door closing behind me

and automatically locking Sign: "This is a LOCK DOWN BUILDING" Not turning back. Not a friend in sight.
"Must... reach... the.... van." I thought and nearly crawled through the snow with my Vietnamese silk scarf around my head

and my watchman's cap around my ears.
This was insane, this crawling and clawing through the ice to reach my van. I merely wanted to see if the tarp I had put over

the radiator was still there. The grill, if you will remember, is completely exposed to provide adequate ventilation in the Mexican desert.

Why had I taken the van so far from her habitat? Awful awful unforgivable mistake. So here I was clawing my way through a

snow drift. Cars buried in banks of ice. Bodies behind the wheel.
My van barely visible through the hail and I'm blindly groping for the door handle, drop the keys, moan loudly, curse the

gods above, dig with my frozen fingers in the snow, find the keys, drop them again, find them, plunge the key into the lock.

It is frozen. Turn hard, injure my hand. Almost break the window in crazed madness!
"Please god. Please let me in! Don't let me die this way! Not here!"
Then it opens. I never locked it to begin with. The van is never locked. I crawl into the womb again. The van is shaking in

the storm.

Ringing in my ear is the hiss of the blast furnace cooking the aluminum Cyberdyne bread. A radiation burn aches on my arm. I

wrap myself in my sleeping bag. Snow is blowing freely through the screen window. THE SCREEN WINDOW! Ah!
Frantically I tear some cardboard from an old cereal box (organic recycled paper) and block out the snow.
"No! No! I want to Live!"
So tired. I didn't sleep last night. Was sick in my bed. Sneezing. First day of work at 6 am and look outside into the next

ice age. 14,000 B.C.
But there can be no excuses any more. We all know I am the problem. Even Dr. Wayne Dyer knows. I am the problem. Oggy is the

problem. He won't assimilate and he finds excuses to continue his one man rebellion against the dominant species of planet

earth. Oggy vs Man. It's a mismatch but Oggy keeps diving out of the ring at the last second like Rowdy Roddy Piper when he

turned bad. So it has been going on forever and the crowd has gone home.

Let me explain that the Mission statement I signed today was written in Chinese and English. CHINESE! IN the Lakes Region of

New England. No wonder the old folks who had 13 years under their belts were skeptical when they were offered their jobs back

at a 50% pay cut and, oh yeah, by the fucking way, you are now officially CHINESE SCAB WORKERS! Your paychecks will be in

Yen.

God bless them for having their coffee and trash talking Cyberdyne.
Well, I crossed the picket line because I ain't no Tom Joad. I'm a man with no money. A man one paycheck from living in his

van on the side of a frozen river, fishing for trout with his shoe laces and a hot dog. ( I should mention that my hot dogs

were stolen with my bacon and Angie's pork chops. They'll never be seen again. I now hoard my cereal under my pillow and a

rat came in last night and we fought viciously until dawn and I won by smashing the monster with a guitar and chortling with

glee, naked, my shriveled penis dripping gonorrhea, the rat corpse now on a broken pencil to ward off evil spirits.)

Too much to explain...too much.

After officially becoming a Chinese scab worker I started my advanced arts and crafts projects. No need to discuss the

details and anyway I am forbidden by my loyalty to the Republic of China. Just know this, that a company with three initials

is building a supercomputer that will take over the entire world. IT'S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW! The Pharaohs have returned.
CALL me crazy, but that is what they called Sarah Connor when she said the machines were after her. Go ahead. Say it.

I returned, god help me, to Cyberdyne and continued my shift. I need the money. I don't care that the supercomputer is too

monstrous to be stopped or even understood. It is the Golem , or the legendary Frankenstein created by man but not of man. IT is

uberman. I fear it but I must have more bacon and salads, more ammunition for the rats. I almost brought cans to the food

bank until I realized, THE FOOD BANK DONATES THEIR FOOD TO MY HOUSE! When people talk about those less fortunate they are

talking about me. ME! Oggy! Ah!

To shift that paradigm I stumbled through the blizzard and back into the maw of Cyberdyne, the good scab. "Does the burn hurt? Naw. I's used to burns. Just show me where you want these boxes.

I loves to move boxes. Yassah!"

"Don't stop Believing" by Journey comes on the radio and it is instantly obvious that no one is listening or inspired. We

have done exactly that: we have stopped believing. The station "Hawk 99.5" has done the impossible by making me HATE "Peace of Mind" by Boston. Maybe the best produced song in history, and they play it every hour. I hate it now.

Conveyor belts. Blast furnaces. Anodizing sludge. Hazardous Waste suits. Bad coughs. Relief checks. What's there to believe

in, Steve Perry? This blizzard has caused a state of emergency and all our national guard units ARE IN FUCKING AFGHANISTAN!

You got old women on crutches digging for truffles in the snow...in CONCORD NH! Our national guard are gone to the desert.

"Had a guy in here a couple weeks ago. Real bonehead. Fucker didn't wear no gloves. Ha. His hands swelled up like a goddamn

motherfucker. Didn't he?"
"Huh?"

There's Oggy taking his medicine. Go on. Laugh. Laugh. He's laughing too. He'll be up all night because there are more rats

in the walls. He hears them and they hear him. It's only a matter of time until they come for his food stock. He's ready for

them. Now he must get ready for them. The sun never sets on Cyberdyne. The flag is red and white. My supervisors bow to each

other. The bakery has pork rolls and and dim sum. Some say the dollar is already obsolete. The yen is the new copper penny.
Wait, I hear the rats. They've come back. But I've got something they'll never expect.


Then I see now I typed my real last name in another post. I fix it but...
I learn...today...the L.A. book got published. Bravo.
http://www.orangerecordings.com/snakes.html
the list of authors...show my real name because it was before I adopted this alias...and the link...the dreaded blue link next to my name leads to this blog.

Thus...I don't know what to do. Batman without his mask. Does it matter? Not sure. The rats are here now and there are many of them. This is a killing army. Tonight we fight. Philosophy class is over.

Saw a clip of myself playing guitar on youtube. A comment: "Charlie Manson at the Holiday Inn LOL."

Keep laughing. Just see what the Golem has in store for you. I've seen the storm coming and it will lay waste to your world.

P.S. This wasn't supposed to be formatted like a poem but my stupid text editor threw in html paragraph breaks everywhere.

So this poem is brought to you by Microsoft and Cyberdyne.






Prose Version:
Rock bottom was arrived at again today. I was fleeing Cyberdyne (my employer whose real name shall not be published because I signed a non disclosure agreement. FYI Cyberdyne is the Terminator manufacturer)
Anyway. I was not really fleeing but going to check on my van which was vanishing in the great blizzard of '09. but it felt like fleeing because, well, I'll get to that.
I fell in the snow, slipping, my legs splayed on the black ice. I heard myself groan as my tendons stretched like plastic trash bags over broken glass.
Ah! Fuck!
No one was around to see me. Nihilism surrounded me. I struggled up and laughed at the situation. Alone in a white out, the door closing behind me and automatically locking Sign: "This is a LOCK DOWN BUILDING" Not turning back. Not a friend in sight.
"Must... reach... the.... van." I thought and nearly crawled through the snow with my Vietnamese silk scarf around my head and my watchman's cap around my ears.
This was insane, this crawling and clawing through the ice to reach my van. I merely wanted to see if the tarp I had put over the radiator was still there. The grill, if you will remember, is completely exposed to provide adequate ventilation in the Mexican desert.

Why had I taken the van so far from her habitat? Awful awful unforgivable mistake. So here I was clawing my way through a snow drift. Cars buried in banks of ice. Bodies behind the wheel.
My van barely visible through the hail and I'm blindly groping for the door handle, drop the keys, moan loudly, curse the gods above, dig with my frozen fingers in the snow, find the keys, drop them again, find them, plunge the key into the lock.

It is frozen. Turn hard, injure my hand. Almost break the window in crazed madness! "Please god. Please let me in! Don't let me die this way! Not here!"
Then it opens. I never locked it to begin with. The van is never locked. I crawl into the womb again. The van is shaking in the storm.
Ringing in my ear is the hiss of the blast furnace cooking the aluminum Cyberdyne bread. A radiation burn aches on my arm. I wrap myself in my sleeping bag. Snow is blowing freely through the screen window. THE SCREEN WINDOW! Ah!
Frantically I tear some cardboard from an old cereal box (organic recycled paper) and block out the snow. "No! No! I want to Live!"
So tired. I didn't sleep last night. Was sick in my bed. Sneezing. First day of work at 6 am and look outside into the next ice age. 14,000 B.C.
But there can be no excuses any more. We all know I am the problem. Even Dr. Wayne Dyer knows. I am the problem. Oggy is the problem. He won't assimilate and he finds excuses to continue his one man rebellion against the dominant species of planet earth. Oggy vs Man. It's a mismatch but Oggy keeps diving out of the ring at the last second like Rowdy Roddy Piper when he turned bad. So it has been going on forever and the crowd has gone home.

Let me explain that the Mission statement I signed today was written in Chinese and English. CHINESE! IN the Lakes Region of New England. No wonder the old folks who had 13 years under their belts were skeptical when they were offered their jobs back at a 50% pay cut and, oh yeah, by the fucking way, you are now officially CHINESE SCAB WORKERS! Your paychecks will be in Yen. God bless them for having their coffee and trash talking Cyberdyne.
Well, I crossed the picket line because I ain't no Tom Joad. I'm a man with no money. A man one paycheck from living in his van on the side of a frozen river, fishing for trout with his shoe laces and a hot dog. ( I should mention that my hot dogs were stolen with my bacon and Angie's pork chops. They'll never be seen again. I now hoard my cereal under my pillow and a rat came in last night and we fought viciously until dawn and I won by smashing the monster with a guitar and chortling with glee, naked, my shriveled penis dripping norrhea, the rat corpse now on a broken pencil to ward off evil spirits.)

Too much to explain...too much.
After officially becoming a Chinese scab worker I started my advanced arts and crafts projects. No need to discuss the details and anyway I am forbidden by my loyalty to the Republic of China. Just know this, that a company with three initials is building a supercomputer that will take over the entire world. IT'S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW! The Pharaohs have returned.
CALL me crazy, but that is what they called Sarah Connor when she said the machines were after her. Go ahead. Say it. I returned, god help me, to Cyberdyne and continued my shift. I need the money. I don't care that the supercomputer is too monstrous to be stopped or even understood. It is the Golem , or the legendary Frankenstein created by man but not of man. IT is uberman. I fear it but I must have more bacon and salads, more ammunition for the rats. I almost brought cans to the food bank until I realized, THE FOOD BANK DONATES THEIR FOOD TO MY HOUSE! When people talk about those less fortunate they are talking about me. ME! Oggy! Ah!
To shift that paradigm I stumbled through the blizzard and back into the maw of Cyberdyne, the good scab. "Does the burn hurt? Naw. I's used to burns. Just show me where you want these boxes. I loves to move boxes. Yassah!"
"Don't stop Believing" by Journey comes on the radio and it is instantly obvious that no one is listening or inspired. We have done exactly that: we have stopped believing. The station "Hawk 99.5" has done the impossible by making me HATE "Peace of Mind" by Boston. Maybe the best produced song in history, and they play it every hour. I hate it now. Conveyor belts. Blast furnaces. Anodizing sludge. Hazardous Waste suits. Bad coughs. Relief checks. What's there to believe in, Steve Perry? This blizzard has caused a state of emergency and all our national guard units ARE IN FUCKING AFGHANISTAN! You got old women on crutches digging for truffles in the snow...in CONCORD NH! Our national guard are gone to the desert.

"Had a guy in here a couple weeks ago. Real bonehead. Fucker didn't wear no gloves. Ha. His hands swelled up like a goddamn motherfucker. Didn't he?"
"Huh?"

There's Oggy taking his medicine. Go on. Laugh. Laugh. He's laughing too. He'll be up all night because there are more rats in the walls. He hears them and they hear him. It's only a matter of time until they come for his food stock. He's ready for them. Now he must get ready for them. The sun never sets on Cyberdyne. The flag is red and white. My supervisors bow to each other. The bakery has pork rolls and and dim sum. Some say the dollar is already obsolete. The yen is the new copper penny.
Wait, I hear the rats. They've come back. But I've got something they'll never expect. Then I see now I typed my real last name in another post. I fix it but...
I learn...today...the L.A. book got published. Thanks to Ron Sievers.
http://www.orangerecordings.com/snakes.html
the list of authors...show my real name because it was before I adopted this alias, before my christian name had become a link in the chain bringing me down...and the link...the dreaded blue link next to my name leads to this blog.
Thus...I don't know what to do. Batman without his mask. Bruce Wayne. Does it matter? Not sure. The rats are here now and there are many of them. This is a killing army. Tonight we fight. Philosophy class is over. Saw a clip of myself playing guitar on youtube. A comment: "Charlie Manson at the Holiday Inn LOL." Keep laughing. Just see what the Golem has in store for you. I've seen the storm coming and it will lay waste to your world.