Bedbugs XXXIV

Bedbugs XXXIV

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.


Ignore the masked three staring at you then one another when
must be made right at all times becomes the bloomed and wilted
mandate that others must follow..providing they see you
doing it. When will his life actually kick in? All they move
when you're not looking interrupt thoughts and patters and
make the record in your head skip. Sometimes I and the rest
can accept there's nobody out there. Fucking strangers
actually might not get tiring, the book said. Is it fiction?
Hiding upstairs, the kid has a secret. Wasting his time, through
the second window I can tell nobody has been here for years.
I can see it! No matter who's right, 30 going on 14 and wasting
other's time on Monday..everyone needs to get their lives
and grammar and syntax and thought processes together. Then
sit down to feast. On that day, I'll turn to the stranger I married
and hopefully whisper things about "now that you know who I am..."




Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:


-everything came together in her favor
-a moment of grace
-now you've done it
-thirty fatalties from the rooftop
-pretentious easily attained
-one piece missing from the
-just let me rest


-Adam

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story"
or start your own.

Today's entry:

Grandma doesn't even remember visits, now.



-Adam

Better Living Through Absurdity

Today: Part Two of My Crazy Weekend

II: I’m like Joey B –I got nuthin’

So, after the Morris Day incident, I am thinking that the night can’t get any stranger. I really should just stop thinking altogether –nothing good ever seems to come from it and it inevitably is some sort of preemptive “you done gone and screwed yerself agin, with yer fancy thinkin’” type of deal…you know what I mean. It’s the quintessential “idiot” scene in every horror film when jackass #5 goes, “Shush, nubile half-naked chick. Press your heaving bosoms against me and hold tight. Because we survived, right? We’re going to be the ones having survivor sex tonight –not Linda or Pete or that other sorta hot nerdy chick, I think her name was Stella or something. But us baby. We made it through. Come on, stop whimpering while I attempt to grope you under the guise of comfort –IT CAN’T GET ANY WORSE, NOW CAN IT?!”

And then…you die. You’ve just opened the floodgates of shitstorms, bad karma, revenge, hillbilly revelry and all-around fucked-up-ness because rather than say, “Well, okay sure, that part of things is over, but rather than sit here and let hormones take over, whaddya say we go find a working phone, a blunt instrument we could use in case those bastards come back, and possibly a part of civilization that doesn’t consist solely of a ramshackle double-wide and a taxidermy shop. Oh and hey, when we find the car –I’ll be sure to use a map –and the first chance I can, I’ll STOP AND ASK FOR DIRECTIONS. And here’s my shirt to cover yourself with –you might catch a cold in that wet nightgown”…you have to go and tempt fate by assuming that you can just stop and rest on Laurel…er…I mean your laurels.

Anyways, I digress.

So. Happened to be outside smoking a cigarette when the new doorman comes out, having just gotten off shift. We’d exchanged a few pleasantries when I was talking to the owner and a couple of other people but that was about it. Now- it should be pointed out that I thought he was gay. EVERYBODY thought he was gay. Not only does he sashay his hips a bit, but he dances like he got cartilage removed somewhere and he does the sassy hand in the face thing. And I won’t even get into the HIDEOUS striped shirt he was wearing in loud tones of salmon, cantaloupe, cream and goldenrod. Yeah screw you, I know my colour wheel.

So he comes over and we begin to chat. A nice pleasant chat about life and family and relationships…I’m thinking to myself, “Okay cool –he’s a nice guy who can relax and not let the “bar” personality be totally pervasive." Then he does something which, to put it mildly, irritated the hell out of me. He covered me. Not like Animal Kingdom, but, he moved my coat to cover my cleavage. Which, to be fair, was showing somewhat through the shirt, but not like full-to-bursting exposure or anything. At that point I went, “wow he is gay.” Then on top of the act that irritated me, he said something that pissed me off even more. He gives me the patronizing “I know what’s good for you look” and says, “Honey, you’re better than that.”

Excuse me?

Better than what? I’m a girl –we have breasts. Some of us are more amply endowed than others. Some of us favor clothes which accentuate our positives, and that’s our own damn business. So I drop my cigarette and fix him with the gimlet eye. “Look –this has nothing to do with being better than anything. I don’t suffer from low self-esteem, I don’t wear the clothes I wear as a plea for attention or bed-partners, and there’s not a goddamn thing anyone can say or joke they can make that I haven’t already heard or made myself –and with far better adjectives too. So this has nothing to do with you or anyone else. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m better than something –I know what I’m worth more than you do.”

He looks totally surprised and then starts talking about being raised by women and respecting them and empowerment and blah blah blah –and then he says that it’s so hard to find a nice girl –one who doesn’t just want sex or to use him for something but someone who wants to talk, to share, to be...”Emotionally intimate”. Riiiiiiight. So…not gay then.

We end up going inside, me to my cup of coffee and he to have another drink. We’re still sort of chatting and then he says, “I don’t know about you –I think you might be like a black widow.” I turn to Johnny the bartender and say, “Hey Johnny, you hear that? This guy called me a black widow” to which Johnny says, “Oh yeah, that’s sexy.” And we both kinda snicker. Then, genius doorman does it again. He covers me up. Only this time he says, “I’m a guy and I’m going to look.” Congratulations –I’m a girl and I’m stuck with them –so if I can deal with it, you sure as hell can for a few hours –besides, they’re maintaining a respectful distance from you and I intend to keep it that way. Then, he HAS to keep talking. He asked me to go somewhere else with him –I said I have to go home. He said he’d really love to continue talking –I say, gimme a raincheck, I really have to go home. He’s still talking. He doesn’t realize that each syllable is simply another checkmark in the “I’d like DOOM please” box. Then, this little gem pops out: “I just have to say that I find you very attractive, very sexy, and I’d love to go somewhere else and continue this conversation, but, I have to be honest…I’m going home alone tonight.”

Even Morris wasn’t that tactless. At least HE offered to buy me ice cream…and a night on the town. This guy feels rejected because I won’t go somewhere else with him so then he rejects me when I hadn’t even made an appeal for anything to BE rejected in the first place. It’s like one of those little fucking puzzles that’s a series of squares, only one’s missing and you have to shuffle all the others around using that one blank space, to make the picture. They’re so damnably annoying and pointless…kind of like how this guy had become.

So, once more, the gimlet eye is fixed and this is how the conversation goes:

Me: Well good for you –I’m going home alone too!

Him: No seriously, I’m going home alone.

Me, raised eyebrow and what I know was the “Is this guy simple or something?” look on my face: Yeah I got that. You’re going home alone. So am I.

Him: You don’t have to be like that. I’m not trying to be a dick.

Me: Well that’s good, otherwise you might get obnoxious.

Him: Well I just feel like you’re saying that as a response to what I said.

Me, now firmly convinced that not only is he simple but suffers from short term memory loss: Well, it WAS a response to what you said. You said something, I said something in returning, thus RESPONDING to what you had said.

Him: Well, I just feel like you’re trying to prove something.

Me, now firmly convinced he also has long-term idiocy: I don’t see how you came up with that one, but then again, I’m not sure how you came up with any of this.

Him: I just want you to be cool, you know, with me going home alone and stuff, and like not thinking that it’s something personal or whatever.

Me, now entirely certain that he’s dim, slow-witted and utterly charm-less: Believe me, it’s completely cool that you’re going home alone.

Him: You’re lying.

Me: I’m not lying –there’s nothing I want from you, no reason to tell you a lie, no feelings that I care about sparing so –nope, not lying.

Him: Are you sure?

(This continues for another 5 or 10 minutes. I won’t bore you with the details –trust me when I say that this guy will be going home alone for a very long time…despite what he thinks about his “undeniable sex appeal.”)

Stay tuned for the final chapter in my crazy weekend involving creepy doorman, the little Texas whore who could and one of the most maudlin scenes of drunkenness I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness!

Trailers from the Harry Penderecki oeuvre

Adam Barnick and LMB Productions present two trailers from cult film director
Harry Penderecki's back catalog, in anticipation of his
summer comeback film Brutal Massacre.

INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL by Frank Palmcoast

When he's not watching, with beads of sweat, his fellow, legally blind, senior citizens parallel park, Frank Palmcoast is catching seven dollar movies at the local multiplex from sunny Pompano Beach, Florida. He's retired, he's angry at the world, he can't spell to save his life, and he hates Hollywood almost as much as Hillary Clinton, but that will not stop our irreverent, dementia fightin', AARP card carrying everyman from giving us a fresh take on all things Hollyweird. Besides, how can he pass up that marvelous senior citizen discount?

Frank Palmcoast recently went under the knife in a Florida hospital. He has recuperated and is back in tip top reviewing shape. He wants to thank all his fans who wrote cards and letters to the BBF. His recovery wouldn't have been as speedy without them!

***************************************************

Firstly, someone has to shorten this title! Don't go to this movie looking for something more than a two hour ride of both humor, adventure and exitement.Indiana Jones perfectly fits Harrison like a glove. It has been 19 years and now Indiana Jones is much older but his homor and demeanor are intact.Harrison Ford is old enough to pay senior citizen price at his own summer block buster. Right from the beginning you see his famous Fedora, the one that stays put through every tricky situation. Ford certainly seems up to the challenge or at least his stunt double does. There is a ton of great moments and these moments will remind you of all the fun in the first three.This Indiana Jones is no Raiders of the Lost Arc but if you look at the History of most sequels, this has to rank among the most respectable. This Crystal Skull they are looking for looks like Larry King without the suspenders. For me, other than Harrison the three other stars are Spielberg, Lucas and let's not forget John Williams for his infamous Raiders music and it's call to adventure and when it's sounded
it tells us fun is just ahead and good luck on getting this theme out of your head. Ford still remains dashing in his fedora and he can still crack his bullwhip. Now Indiana Jones will slip into the history of film like Rocky Balboa. John Rambo & John McCain safe in the knowledge that he goes out at the top of his game. Does Harrison Ford sucessfully repeat, yes he CANNES!
Palmcoast here!
PS: Some additional questions from Palmcoast:1) Why do the police always tell vicious criminals to watch their heads while placing them in police vehicles? 2) Car dealers advertise cars for say $199.00 per month but in the small prints you have to put $5,000 at the inception? 3) Why when riots occur, do the rioteers always burn and destroy cars? 4)We are always told to hit the SAP button on your remote, where is that on the remote?5) Palmcoast is sick of seeing Ed McMahon and his Premier Walk-in Baths! 6) Why are all the Miss Universes from this plannet? Last but not least--Giuseppi Franco--enough said!

Bedbugs XXXIII

Bedbugs XXXIII


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.


Exhausted and ignoring the false betrayal he's been labeled with
over the phone manages to cause drones in single file to
move a little faster, but never out of turn. He leaves
the library which was covered in dust from lack of use
even though they'll never find him there. Battered metal
office furniture leaves sparkling cinder remnants that
can't be remembered or denied or experienced; unless you pay
for it, the tall man says. It had been a being. Possessing it for a
spell, he tongued the roof of its mouth and ran fingers through
its hair. The walls started to decay at a swift pace from the
rainfall and apathy. Time to abandon this place. Knowing
speaking out of turn is welcome at any time, though only
the foul weather will hear it. I won't even consider coming
back in five or a hundred years, sleeping one hundred hours
on a dying company's time. When we wake up, will the sun be
out? Doubtful but smiling; won’t even think of help. When you
get home and truly know me, you ask if it’s still in the woods.



Next week's seven phrases/groups of words:



-must be made right at all times
-they move when you're not looking
-fucking strangers
-through the second window
-I can see it!
-wasting other's time on Monday
-now that you know who I am


-Adam

Better Living Through Absurdity

This Week's Topic: The Wonderful Weekend of Wackiness, Weirdness and What-the-Bleepness?!

Part One: Wild and Loose…Morris Day Retrofitted

So Saturday I decided to head to my neighborhood place and as it was raining and I didn’t feel like dealing with the hassle of parking, I decided to take a cab. Howsoever, not a cab was to be found. I called about 10 places and apparently, no one wants to answer their phone or they told me I had an hour or more wait. So I said screw it and decided to take my chances with driving since, if that many people are taking cabs, then there’s a good chance that there would be parking. But as I walked outside, the rain had stopped and I thought, well heck, I’ll just walk up to the corner and try to hail a cab.

So I do, chatting on the phone with my friend and enjoying the crisp air. Get up to the first major intersection and attempt to hail a cab. Apparently quite poorly as no one was stopping. At one point my friend said, “Maybe you should get out in the street” which, while logical to some extent as you would assume traffic would HAVE to stop for me, with my luck, I’d get the one asshole on a mission and he’d just barrel right by me. So, I keep my position, looking out for cabs and still talking to my friend. Suddenly to the right of me, I notice a cop car pull up into the parking lot. Slowly. Oh so slowly. And they’re eyeballing me. Then they pull around the lot and drive up right behind me –like all of three feet behind me –and they just sit. Lights blazing on me, sitting. I fail to see why they couldn’t bother to get out of the car and ask me if I was alright or if I needed any help –they just sit and stare with their lights burning a hole in my backside. My friend on the phone asked what was going on and I said that they probably thought I was either waiting for a john or trying to score some drugs. And then I kind of shrugged it off and said, “Eh whatever, they’ll figure out soon that I’m just looking for a cab.”

Until of course a city bus pulls up in the turn lane across from me. And the driver opens his window and leans out…and begins to proposition me. Making kissy faces, and the always classy “call me” sign, saying, “Hey baby, why dontcha talk to me, hmmm, talk to me.” Now all I can mutter is, “Oh for fuck’s sake” and my friend asks, “What the heck is going on?!” so I tell her, “Well, the bus driver is blowing my cover.”

I should probably point out that it wasn’t like he had an empty bus –there were like 20 people in it, all watching out the window to see who the driver was coming on to. 15 seconds indeed…

Anyways, by some blessed miracle, a driver nears the corner and I hold my hand up in one last attempt to hail a cab, trapped between the waiting cop and the leering bus driver, the rain starting back up and the temperature dropping even more. He motions me over, I about fall on my knees to bless him and I’m off.

I arrive at my destination, head inside and proceed to get a seat, order some coffee and just relax. Now, as I know most of the staff there, I try to make it a point to say hi to everyone and I headed upstairs to check in on my friend CJ who was bartending. We’re chatting for a bit till suddenly this guy comes up on my left.

I nearly did a double take because I would have sworn he was Morris Day.

The sudden and brief exclamation of “MMMM!” emitting from him didn’t do much to change that opinion.

He had the suit, the piano key tie, the two-tone shoes, the hair, the moustache…and the Jerome.

And he’s eyeballing me like a chubby kid looks at a chocolate bar after lent.

The conversation ended up going like this:

Morris Day redux: “MMMM! You…are…deee-licious. Mmm mmm mmm.”

Me: “Ummm, thanks. That’s nice.”

Morris Day now moving in for the kill: “I’d like to buy you some ice…cuh-ream.”

Me:………………………

CJ: “Are you going to buy her a drink or what?”

Morris Day giving me “the look”: “I’d like to buy her a night on the town!”

Me: *thinks* Yeah, do you have a bearskin rug, and a fireplace too?

Me: *says* “Well that’s quite the offer.”

Morris Day, trying to ignore his Jerome who’s sidled up to him: “You just…accentuate…the place…with all you’ve got…going on.”

Then he kisses my cheek and leaves.

I’m torn between horror and hysterical laughter. I, of course, opt for the hysterical laughter.

And believe me, that’s just the beginning…part 2 to come next week!

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story"
or start your own.

Today's entry:


Dad just got married!
AGAIN.
Sigh..



-Adam Barnick

The Story Slice: The Takeoff

by Brian Hughes

This is a continuation of a story that began here:

Maureen: Part 1

Maureen: Part 2

Cahil sat at the gate confidently. He batted his thighs like drums, feeling indestructible: three fair maidens would be his. It had taken him many years to feel just …like… this. This would be the sexual adventure he had dreamt about. And what better timing: a career defining interview with pop star Brenda Burgundy, several biters for his first book of fiction, the beginning of a new stable life with his soon to be bride, and a grand sense of entitlement that all of this and more should be coming to him.

His trip of unbridled sexual ribaldry though would have to wait, for there was a fissure in the landing gear module of the airplane. There was another flight he could jump on, but that would mean a three hour layover in Chicago. Not exactly how he wants to see one of the great cities for the first time. He’ll wait.

The Takeoff Bar was teeming with business types reading trade magazines and sports sections. There was a stool open; Cahil took it. All this dreaming of the three California sex maidens made him feel licentious, so he ordered a rum and coke and dialed Janeen.

“Mom and I are looking at three more restaurants for our reception.”
“So we’ve ruled out the Botanical Gardens?” Cahil asked.
“Yes – and The Inter-Continental.”
“Awww … I was jonesing for The Inter-Continental. That view.”
“That’s so cute …”
“What?”
“That you’re this invested. That you are disappointed.”
“Of course I’m invested!” He laughs.
“Well, one thing the city is not short on is views.”
“Very true.”
“You know something?”
“What?”
“I miss you already. You think you might be able to come home earlier?”
“Possibly, but Carey is trying to set me up with another interview – I can’t say no to Carey.”
“No, you’re absolutely right. I picked out three invitations that I think you’ll really like.”
“I can’t wait to see them, hun.” Cahil said as horse racing caught his eyes on the television over the bar.

Talking to Janeen made him feel real low down. Why should I feel guilty, he thought. Every man deserves the opportunity to experience different body types before he sets out on a life of faithfulness. I mean, shit … I’m not having a silly ass bachelor party. Those things are just ass. I couldn’t help it if my mind was genetically prone to stay inside itself and not get laid for years and years and years. I know I’m a good person down deep, I keep telling myself that, and I know it’s true. I just haven’t fucked enough, and I want this – I need this, damn it!

The bartender with the red ponytail was heavily invested in the harness racing on TV.
“I could never get why people preferred harness racing over the regular racing,” Cahil said aloud to the bartender.
The bartender turned slowly toward him with big, bulging spaced out eyes.
“It’s the sulkies, my lad … the sulkies,” he said.
“Oh, okay … are those the carts they ride?”
The bartender looked back at the television. Cahil felt as if he was distracting the bartender from his race. “I like the blue one. If I could bet, I would bet on the blue one.”
“Well put your money where your mouth is lad. Place your loot on the bar!”
Cahil thought it over. “I’m a betting man, don’t tempt me, or you’ll lose your shirt.”
“Put it on the bar lad – the race is about to begin.”
“I have luck on my side – be careful.”
“On the bar lad!”
“How much … how much … let’s say ten dollars?”
“You’re on. You don’t know what the blazens you’re doing, do ya?”
“Not at all.”
“What are ya doin’ lad – you’re gonna loose that ten dollar bill.”
“I’m okay with that.”
After two and a half hours, Cahil was out a hundred dollars, and drunk to boot. Cahil had never flown drunk. This should be interesting, he thought. He was also out 30 dollars in drinks.
“I don’t have any more money for the drinks. I gave you all I have.”
“That’s very unfortunate. What are we going to do about this?”
“What I think I’ll do is run for my gate and not pay you.”
“I’ll be out thirty dollars. I won’t have that.”
Cahil began teasing the bartender with feigning to run away.
“I’ll hop over this bar and kick your little ass. I’ve been to jail, I’ll go again.”
“You’d go to jail over thirty dollars and a shitty airport bar job?”
“You’re beginning to piss me off.”
“I wouldn’t go to jail for my job … shit … Okay …here.” Cahil handed the bartender his charge card. Take twenty dollars off it for yourself – you’re a good chap.”
“Thank you, Sir.”

Cahil hated takeoffs. Janeen was so sweet. She texted him before take off. “Lake George” she wrote. Lake George was where they went on their first vacation together. They would phone or text the name of that first vacation spot as an offer of good luck and love before taking off. Those two words felt so incredibly safe to Cahil. They even had a force strong enough to burst through his drunken haze. He smiled and drifted off into a doze.

In his dream he saw Janeen and his future mother in law on line buying tickets at a movie theatre. The ticket taker was bitching because Janeen had only a hundred dollar bill and no change. The mother in law was angry and yelling at the theatre manager. Cahil walked over and put it all to rest by giving the ticket person three twenties. It felt good to Cahil that he could diffuse the situation. That he had cash in his pocket to do so. An Asian girl behind the ticket window was hot and coming on to Cahil, but she was just a child: he had no interest. Next he found himself on a subway train. The Asian girl sat in front of him as he leaned over her, bucking a bit from the rattle of the subway car. She stared at him and gave him the sex eye. The girl slipped off her sandal and rubbed his ankle with her bare foot. Cahil walked away. She was still a child, and still held no interest to him. He walked to the back of the car and watched the train tracks steal away in the dark tunnel. A young boy was trying to lift himself from the tracks onto the platform. He didn’t make it. A train barreled through and tore the little boy into oblivion. A grunted yell bellowed from deep inside Cahil, as he sound of the co-pilot awoke him. They would be taking the Northern route to California.

Brenda Burgundy was the featured story on the cover of the in-flight magazine. Like the Asian girl of his dream, he had no interest, even if she were one of the most famous women on the planet. Heather – Heather was a name that made his loins twitch. He got an instantaneous desire to jerk off in the airplane bathroom, but he felt his cheeks secreting saliva and was on the verge of violently vomiting. He made his way to the back of the plane and locked himself in. Someone was banging on the door, as he stuck his finger in his mouth. Cahil feared his flight to California would be a monumental mistake.

Bedbugs XXXII

Bedbugs XXXII

Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.



After that thing ran through the house, the old records
still play, but the sound has been taken from them. Only
the scratches repeating endlessly. She still plays them
and rocks in her chair for an hour. Hospital functionalities
are not my strong suit yet I welcome the dread within. Please
take care of her, the red arched stone bridges shrill voice calling
me forces me to run across the pathway, finding same shadow
on the front lawn. I try speaking and only the scratching sounds
come out. ‘What are you doing here?’ Is heard from the metal box
in my windpipe thirty seconds later. Up North the friendliness
comes from a real place and not from a pill.. creation and
knowing when they ran out, they used mud to build men’s bodies.
The ringing in my ears was implanted by the tall ones. I care about
ratcheting up the tension so long as it shakes some of these devices
free..they came back and they scooped everything out of the form,
leaving nothing but hopefully, purpose. Blackbirds are etched
in the retinal scans of the optimistic. It’s hard for me
to get there- I took her smile away.



Next week’s seven phrases/groups of words:



-drones in single file
-battered metal office furniture
-tongued the roof of it
-speaking out of turn is welcome
-sleeping one hundred hours
-won’t even think of help
-ask if it’s still in the woods


-Adam Barnick

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.

Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story"
or start your own.

Today's entry:


After four drinks, life's great!
(vomits)


-Adam

Better Living Through Absurdity

This Week's Topic: If I Was Really a Nihilist, I'd Just Go Ahead and Shank You With a Rusty Spoon

I had written this for my other blog and had mentioned it to my dad who actually reads this column and so, as I hadn't posted it here and it is appropriate given the election season, I thought I'd repost it for your pleasure.

There are very few things in this world that I won't discuss.

I'm sure those of you who have talked to me for any length of time can vouch for that.

Very few...but a few nonetheless.

I refuse to debate religion and I refuse to debate politics.

Note please, I didn't say I refuse to discuss...I will happily do so, provided that the discussion is based upon the philosophies of religion or political ideologies...but beyond that, kindly shut the fuck up and go on about your existence. In many cases, I can avoid those potentially pointless spirals into incoherent raving by simply saying to people, "My religion -I don't have one" or "My political leanings -I don't have any." Much the same way that I refuse to identify my sexuality and my ethnicity, I will not give people an easily recognizable pidgeonhole merely to make them more comfortable. I'm sorry if I don't help you with "placing" me or "pegging" me -but really, that's your problem, not mine.

From time to time, some poor unfortunate takes it upon themselves to try to help me develop a "social conscience." Nevermind that I'm happy just the way I am -they feel that I'm missing something, that if they can just have a few moments of my time, I shall suddenly see the error of my ways and renounce all ambiguity in favor of margins, checked boxes and recognizable terms like "Caucasian," "Straight." or "Atheist." Lately, I've been subjected to such interventions thanks to the fact that it's an election year.

Pardon me for not giving a shit...but I don't. Whether it's student body elections or the presidential ones, 50 will get you 100 that my ass won't be in a voting booth on the appropriately designated day of the week.

Now before you get your knickers in a twist, I'll say this -do I like G.W. Bush -no. In fact if you ever seriously thought of me as that much of a lackwit, I'll thank you to take me off of your friend's list. Do I think he's done bad, reprehensible, stupid and negligent things -yeah. I'm possessed of enough logic to understand that he made more than one grievous error. Do I like the fact that we're in this war? No. I find no socially redeeming value in war whatsoever, no matter what we think we're fighting for. Does this mean that I dismiss the sacrifices that people have made for the cause -no. By no means. Are issues like welfare, housing, the economy, education, social security and the Pledge of Allegiance in school keeping me up at night -nope. That doesn't mean that I don't think there's serious problems with those administrations. I get all of this. I understand. I see where you're coming from friend, I can tell that it's important to you -which is why I'm not telling you that you're a pathetically over-optimistic dunderhead who seems to think that an exchange of one evil for what is perhaps the lesser of two, is a great bargain. However, no matter which way you turn it -the lesser of two evils -is still evil. Right there is the fundamental reason that I don't vote -I've never found a candidate that I could support completely, I've never seen a government that does what it's supposed to, or a democracy that's actually run by the people. Everything is a compromise, everything is a trade-off. For every moderate success story, there are two dozen abysmal failures. While math may not be my strong suit, even I know those are wretched odds.

The arguments are always the same: "If you don't like the system, change it" or "You have a voice -use it!" or "One vote really can make a difference"...yes thank you for the saccharine platitudes -but really, if I was going to change the system, it would involve a lot of death, destruction and chaos, if I used my voice, I'd get nothing for my trouble but a sore throat and a lot of strange looks and as for one vote making the difference...please. That's as bad as the tripe we're forced to swallow about "you can be anything you want to be" or "if you want it badly enough, you can make it happen." Sure. Sure I can. I wanted to be a mermaid with a convertible corvette. No one saw fit to tell me that there's a very limited market for such a thing, or that science had not yet found a way for me to drive the corvette underwater or with a tail. So much for that dream.

After I explained the above (with a bit more patience and a few less horrific examples) to this person from school who was trying to get me to vote for something or other and who, of course, took it upon themselves to save me from my own "majority of one" complex, I finally heard the sentence I'd been waiting for all along..."So, you're just a nihilist then."

Mmmmmm, close. But no. As I explained very calmly to this now extremely distraught soul, I believe quite simply that this world, this version/incarnation/possibility of Earth that we happen to exist on -is well and truly fucked. No god or man can change what has been done, no plan of action will magically cause all the evil in the world to turn to good and no amount of legislation, pledge drives or protesting will stop world hunger, racism, poverty, ignorance or suffering as a whole. Those things not only exist, but we've embraced them -we've made them work for our purposes, perverted them to make impressive slide shows and pie charts, and manipulated them to further other, more/less grim, causes. Do I think there is any hope for this world as it stands -no. I do not.

But...

that does not mean that I do not find beauty in this world. That I am not moved by the accomplishments and creations of people within this world. That I am not capable of appreciating such advancements and enhancements and edifying experiments as have come about through the centuries as a result of ingenuity and integrity and intellect. It does not mean that I renounce love or lust or friendship or family. It does not mean that I don't see the value to a productive life or a happy one. It does not mean that I feel that effort is wasted.

What it means is this: At some point, today, tomorrow, 50 years or 1000 years from now -the physical form I inhabit will cease to function. I will, in all mundane and normal terms -die. Expire. Pass away. And as I do know what sorts of things exist in this world that can bring one pleasure, that can enhance one's mind and body, that can broaden horizons and electrify the soul -I don't intend to waste what time I have left to me, in such form as I do occupy, worrying about the unpleasantness that government has wrought, about the inconsistencies and hypocrisies of religious doctrines, about the housing market or the gas prices or the ethics of hybrid corn and stem cell research or any of the other hundreds, thousands, millions of things that can bog down a brain and crush such spirit as we are capable of showing. It really doesn't interest me.

I prefer living. Violently, passionately, uninhibitedly, ridiculously, intelligently, exultantly, defiantly and in all things -thoroughly. In my world, I am not an inconsequential dust-mote, reduced to feeling small and helpless when contemplating greater things of man or nature. I am the prime mover, the hunter-gather, I am a force to be reckoned with -I am the fulfillment of potential, promise and possibility.

And if by saying that, you conclude that I don't care about life, liberty or the pursuit of happiness...

then please ignore the smell of gasoline on your person and hold still while I light this match.

Vitali Investigates the NHL

Vitali Patoshik

Vitali goes hard hitting at recently out homosexual Sidney Crosby of the Pittsburgh Penguins after their defeat of the New York Rangers...

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Vitali's first investigation
Vitali at the Super Bowl

Start Talking

Every episode will have a different person sit in front of the camera as I announce their character name and a brief description of them as if they were a guest on my program via satellite, except the person has absolutely no idea who they are playing or what I am going to ask until the words come out of my mouth. At which point they have to, simply, Start Talking.

First Guest: Timmy Cassese

Bedbugs XXXI

Bedbugs XXXI


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.




Angels and extras pretending to have good intentions
watch that the cheering is dying down and worlds are ripe
for the taking. I can’t even get the recordings to play so
I put them in the basement. It took them that night but
nobody believes abuse of monochromatic, monosyllabic
diaphragmatic builds and builds until it can find us
so come turn out that light! My artificial daughter
is cheaper; little girl hears it splashing in alley puddles and
mixes and matches emotional paints. I smear it along the
asylum walls until I wake. Color was invented by them. It’s a shame
because so few people can even see it. To the black
and white beings it’s a mess and no more which is what
is the reason for why it becomes a reason that was buried
in the highway- pain that comes in a box is better.



Next week’s seven phrases/groups of words:


-shrill voice calling me
-shadow on the front lawn
-what are you doing here?
-when they ran out, they used mud
-ratcheting up the tension
-scooped everything out of the form
-I took her smile away



-Adam in absentia

Six Word Theater

Six Word Theater

Click here for last week's entry.


Inspired by the challenge Hemingway undertook to tell a story
in six words("For Sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”), I attempt
to polish my skills by telling a six-word story or phrase each
Wednesday.

Feel free to "continue the story"
or start your own.

Today's entry:


Come to the basement, it croaked...



-Adam in absentia

Better Living Through Absurdity

This Week’s Topic: Random Anecdotes

I can’t seem to come up with one killer story for this week so I’ve decided to give you some random anecdotes about this, that and the other!

I had a message on the work phone the other day from a girl who sounded like she was twelve and had been sucking on the helium. According to her, she “loooooooooves to jump” and she wants to take a class on the trampoline because she “loooooooooves to jump” and can she come in and jump because “jumping is soooooooooo fun!”

I actually had to call this broad back –and I was on the phone for 30 minutes listening to her extol the virtues of the trampoline. She didn’t seem to understand that we don’t exclusively teach the trampoline but she will be able to USE the trampoline in class. Then I asked her how old she was so I could figure out which class I could put her in…turns out –she’s 30. I finally put her on speakerphone so the other people here could understand why I was making a weird face. I think it was something of a mix of horror, laughter and pity…regardless, she sounded like a bad imitation of a cartoon character…on crack.

2

I was at Trader Joes buying some healthy food and I was looking over the dried fruits and this old man comes up to me and says, “You should always squeeze ‘em a bit.” I turn to look at him, not having any idea what he was talking about and said, “Pardon?” and he says, “You know, give ‘em a bit of a pinch.” I look down at the package in my hands which happened to be raisins. Without thinking I blurt out, “But that’s like pinching someone’s nipples or something!” And he gives me this totally creepy grin and says, “Yeah I know!” and he walks off, cackling that creepy old person who’s basically condemning you to a horrible fate in some death clown mutant zombie redneck butcher house laugh. Still…best damn raisins I’ve had in a long time.

3

There’s a girl in my building who has really loud, really fake sounding, porno sex –usually in the middle of the night, and usually after she’s stumbled up the stairs like a sedated musk-ox who happens to be wearing clogs. Now, I have no problem with someone being vocal –I am prone to that myself –but she just sounds like she’s reading the subtitles of a late 80’s porno –and there’s not so much as a grunt out of the guy. I find this all very annoying. Today as I was getting ready, I keep hearing this noise. I couldn’t tell if it was a baby crying or her having her really bad high-pitched pig-squeezing sex. It would start and then stop suddenly so I couldn’t quite get a handle on what it was I was hearing. Finally after a dozen or so attempts at trying to place it, I threw down my brush and yelled out the window, “For god’s sake, is it a baby crying or is someone having sex?!” All noise ceased. I think even the garbagemen stopped using the compactor. A hush descended. So then I said, “Look, I’m not judging –I just want to know –I can’t tell and it’s driving me nuts!” The hush continued. No one ventured forth an answer. And still I waited, ear cocked. Patiently. Oh so patiently. Finally, a loud squawking wail goes up, followed by some more crying and that little hiccupping sob noise –and triumphant, I declared loudly, “Baby!” and resumed getting ready to go.

4

Finally, this occurred the other week and it still makes me giggle. There’s a girl from school that I absolutely despise. For those of you who recall, she’s the one I bitched out during the Blade Runner lecture I gave. She’s a pathetic witling who spends her time sleeping, texting, yammering or tanning –basically, nothing of any great importance. She’s in one of my media classes and we had our final which was due via email by noon on Monday. Now, if you’re in the Comm/Media/Theater program, chances are, you’re on the mailing list for that department. And this poor, hypermaterialistic little drama whore, decides to respond to a posting about a class change –with her final. She sends her final to the entire message board. With the most lame-ass excuse for its lateness: Please accept my apologies for the inconvenient timing of this matter. (What?! I’m all for some flowery prose but it’s better if it actually MAKES FRIGGIN SENSE!) I was called in today to work for a sick girl, late last night, (How can you be called in today, but late last night, to work for a sick girl? Even if she’s not lying, she’s too stupid to be allowed this particular excuse…) and I just got in right now to send you the e-mail, (Why do you have a comma if you’re going to start a new sentence with a capital letter? I know you took copyediting you hapless tart –you’d think at least the basics of grammar would have stuck with you.) Thanks so much and I will see you again!! Great Class! (Yeah, sure –great considering that you slept through most of it and what you didn’t get to sleep through you were texting for the duration of the class. Or just staring at nothing with this absolutely vacant look on your face like someone just lobotomized you.)

Oh –and her paper topic: Barack Obama is Not a Muslim. I give you, for your amusement (since there’s not a chance in hell you’ll find it edifying) –the first paragraph:

The Sago Mine Tragedy and the accusation that Senator Barack Obama is a Muslim are definitely two prime examples of how political miscommunication can spread like wild fire and how it causes serious damage to a society. To recap, The Sago Mine Tragedy was an event that occurred in January of 2006, involving twelve miners that were reported alive and one pronounced dead, later the story altered to twelve dead and one individual who had survived. What’s more is that the language or choice of words used, such as “bodies were found” was deliberately interpreted ambiguously. Also, the presentation Barack Obama is not a Muslim was a miscommunication regarding how the media referred to Obama ethnically as someone he was not. In sum, both presentations have the same medium as being faulty, the damage was done on the subjects of each incident, and nothing was ever done to rectify these vast dilemmas.

Believe me –it gets worse –at one point she says, that the media “decapitated” instead of “depicted.”

Alright, that’s all I got for ya –back to pondering other stuff!

IRON MAN by Frank Palmcoast

When he's not watching, with beads of sweat, his fellow, legally blind, senior citizens parallel park, Frank Palmcoast is catching seven dollar movies at the local multiplex from sunny Pompano Beach, Florida. He's retired, he's angry at the world, he can't spell to save his life, and he hates Hollywood almost as much as Hillary Clinton, but that will not stop our irreverent, dementia fightin', AARP card carrying everyman from giving us a fresh take on all things Hollyweird. Besides, how can he pass up that marvelous senior citizen discount?

This week .... Palmcoast takes on a superhero!

*****************************************************

I chose Iron Man as my starter film for the summer season. In the past I saw other hero films like Superman, Batman and Spiderman but Iron Man was by far the best of these Marvel comic hero's. Iron Man is entertaining with very little boring moments and I think all ages will enjoy this flick. Robert Downey is fine as is Jeff Bridges who plays the villain. I couldn't happen to wonder if the Coen Brothers tittled this movie it would have been called, "No Country For Iron Men". Like all first superhero movies Iron Man takes an in-depth look at Iron Mans beginnings. This movie is visually spectacular and has the perfect amount of build up so you don't feel like you missed any four play and you still get your rocks off. There are also quite a few laughs out loud throughout the movie. Iron man is Ironclad. I went to see this flick with low expectations and I was pleasantly surprised. Iron Man was MARVELous!
This flick is like Campbell soup, Mn, Mn, good.FYI at the end of the movie stay for the end of the credits and a famous Actor makes an appearance as Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D and therefore the next sequel titled the Avenger. Downey, from rehab back to icon! This should have been released for July 4th and now onto Indiana Jones!

Bedbugs XXX

Bedbugs XXX


Click here for an explanation of how Bedbugs is created.

Click here for last week's Bedbugs.




My soul and frightfully diminished ambition are dissolved
into bits smaller than my parent’s generation. Empty-headed
platitudes are what the doctors ask me to carve into the
underside of my subdermal subconscious scratched like sandpaper
that itches when you think; wolf in the bleached forest is easy
to discover, uncover and simply find as long as the portrait is
painted and primed for creativity. Hopefully someone will
come along and paint it. Pulling color from the leaves, I don’t
care if that’s the last result as long as the result is ART.
Thumping bass in my head suggests crainial implants
from the docs or simply our slothful soundtrack we work
our lives to. Don’t make me care, they beg. It would take
away a lot of martini time! Silk under me is what I miss,
specifically the person who filled it. One more time is yearned for
now that I’ve built my own dungeon. The doctors do promise
it is safer there…knowing my own mind, best to leave this
one alone.



Next week’s seven phrases/groups of words.

-the cheering is dying down
-abuse of monochromatic
-turn out that light!
-little girl hears it splashing in alley puddles
-color was invented by them
-what is the reason for
-pain that comes in a box is better.

-Adam

The Post 5am Post

whenever i am still up past 5am i am going to do a new posting here on the post 5am post.

i am a night person. early to bedding creates guilt from "night wasting". sometimes i even get things done.

the other night i cleaned the whole apartment. tonight i watched a film. it's never enough though.

i enjoy a number of things more than sleep. even now, feeling weak and fatigued, i would like to find a second (or third) wind and perhaps organize my shelfing.

there is a noise i am hearing now. if i were in the country, this noise would frighten me. but here, in the city, whatever it could be is less worrisome than what is.

if people have a problem with children posing in alluring women poses, without "clothes" on, no one should consider that overreacting.

wright is right. if your god is white and he's a man, and you are a white man, then you are going to have a hard time feeling less than superior.

Zabriskie Point tomorrow. Two or Three Things I know About Her next week.

i agreed to meet someone in a bar last night that didn't know what i looked like, nor i him. we were in there together for more than ten minutes without knowing it. this will never happen again in my life. i am certain. wonder what else is gone.

-peter rinaldi