The God Damned Americans
I told Jesse that I have writer’s block again and HE said, “There’s no such thing as writer’s block. There are plenty of things you’re thinking of writing, you just don’t think any of them are any good. You have approval block.”
And because Jesse’s always right (except when he’s wrong), I’m going to sit here and try to pull the bar (bra) down and just write what I am thinking of writing.
Here goes:
For the first several minutes of being awake this morning, I repeatedly said to Eric,
“Hasta la pizza!”
Then, I stood up and did a wiggly dance and told him to look at me because I was doing this wiggly dance and he asked me what my dance was called and I said,
“The Spaghetti”
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One of my favorite lines that I’ve ever written is, “8 balls aching to pocket.”
How fucking serious is that line?
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Yesterday, Eric was intoxicated and when we got back to the house, he walked over to the enclosure that Bukowski and Highway were in, said, “THESE ARE MY FRIENDS” and swung open the door.
Bukowski almost instantaneously peaced the yard with Highway hopping at his heels.
I was furious.
When Kow and Highway didn’t come back within an hour, I started really getting worried and sat in the front yard waiting for them to return.
At some point, Eric got on my bicycle and rode down the tiny dead end street that ends in a mansion, shouting their name. The mansion’s golden retriever exploded from the trees, barking, and Eric wobbled back toward the house, saying to me, “That dog doesn’t like me.”
Then Eric took off down our own street to continue the search.
Within seconds, a white luxury sedan with a decrepit old lady driving it crept from the mansion gates.
She crawled past our house toward where Eric had gone and I instantly wondered, “Did she leave her house just to look at us?”
Sure enough, within a minute, her white car was strolling right back into the mansion gates.
That was such a Gatsby moment.
But not more so then Saturday afternoon, when we were invited to the neighbor’s housewarming party.
The couple who lives there are very nice people, don’t get me wrong, but it was Gatsby as fuck.
There was a girl there in a pink evening gown and the husband and wife are both around Eric and I’s age (perhaps a couple years older) and have just moved into a 400,000 dollar home with a pool and a volleyball court and he is a cop in Southold (an upscale port area on the NorthFork of Long Island that includes Greenport) and she is a teacher in Southhampton and his whole family look like cops and have the same cop moustache and khaki shorts and she has really bright eyes and a warm smile and thanked us so much for coming by and after the platter of cucumber salad was eaten, it was instantly replaced by another. There was a huge table of food and a keg and Stella Artois in the cooler and Aunts and Uncles littered the tables set up underneath the enormous circus tent erected between the house and the pool area and Eric and the consultant and I sat around the black metal fire pit, eating barbecued chicken.
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BING-BONG: It is now Seven. Twenty. Eight. A.M. BING-BONG
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Oh, in case you were wondering, Kow and Highway did come home, soaking wet and smelling like corpses.
We are about 4 houses (or 4 yards, if you’re Kow and don’t give a god damn about peoples’ properties) away from a marina that leads out into the sound and I s’pose that he galumphed right over there and dunked himself right in among the reeds, muck, and Blue Herons.
I gave them a bath immediately.
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Farts on the freeway
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Parts on the peeway?
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My crusty banana (EW, WHY DID THAT COME TO MY HEAD)
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Okay, so I was just thinking about “han solo” and it lead to “hand solo” and THAT’S MASTURBATION! MAKE STAR WARS JERK JOKE IMMEDIATELY
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Last night I dreamed that I was in prison
I don’t remember what I did to get there, but I know that it wasn’t a very serious crime and that really, I wasn’t even sure how long that I would be in there. The only thing that I do remember knowing is that I did NOT murder anybody.
I remember recess and walking around, not knowing quite what time it was or how much time that was left before I had to return to my cell, so I walked to find where the other inmates in my wing were and they were all sitting in a circle on those blue plastic chairs that you have in elementary and high schools.
At some point, I passed Ted Carstensen (my friend) and he was working on a computer behind bullet-proof glass.
I was carrying a pair of white high-top Nikes and I remember that I was very proud of them and loved them very much and a girl passing by me to go outside, spotted my sneakers at the last minute and when I snatched them up, she said, “I’MMA GET THOSE SNEAKS DIRTY” and I said, “noooooooo, they’re white!”
Shortly afterward I was walking down my wing of the prison and someone was yelling INSPECTIONS and girls were standing in front of their cells.
I was at the end of the row, so I ran down to the end and into my cell and began cleaning up.
I had a lazyboy chair smack in the middle of my cell, for whatever reason.
High class, huh?
The woman who came in to inspect my cell wiped bird shit all over my carpet (high class, huh)
and then she was asking me about my degree in photojournalism and told me that I should start a company when I got out of the big house.
Maybe I will, officer.
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HA
I just stood up and my debit card was stuck to my ass.
What a god damned American.
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Jesse also said to me this morning, “As your attorney I advise you to listen to heart of glass sometime today.”
And I said, “As your attorney I advise you to listen to bad boys by Miami Sound Machine sometime today.”
Bad,bad,bad,bad boys. (You make me feel so good)
No but seriously, today’s musical upload to Tumblr is going to be The Bouncing Souls- Ole.
Bouncing Souls no one can beat us, we drink beer and wear Adidas!
What god damned Americans.
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