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Kasey’s Neighbor’s Airbnb Guest’s Uncle Juan’s Girl

Kasey’s Neighbor’s Airbnb guest said his Uncle Juan’s Girl had a multi-color pussy. Like all kinds of fucked up colors, man. And she wasn’t sick or nothing like that, it was just the way her pussy was. Like stripes- like lines of color. Red and blue and black and green and yellow and shit like that, man. She wasn’t sick or nothing- He said his Uncle thought it was like a fucked up tattoo and she was fucking with him but then like once when he was going down on her she got mad at him for being like lazy or something and like the colors flashed and shit. Crazy fucking stuff, man. And you know this guy is like super into Kasey’s Neighbor’s Airbnb room so you know they know him super well and don’t think he’d make shit up like that.

#unique snowflake #incredible people

Magazine Throat

So there’s something stuck in your throat, huh? Something wet & unpleasant that reminds you of a pile of old rotting magazines. Wet magazines rotting in the corner of the room. Filled with celebrities from thousands and thousands of years ago. People long dead and forgotten and they’re dust, too. Or muds. Or maybe they’ve grown into small plants or a small collection of mold.

Anyway, so you got a moldy magazine stuck in your throat or is the magazine just about mold? Mold Monthly? The San Francisco Mold Collective’s Bi-Annual? Recent issue or Pre-1995? A collector’s edition or anything?

Well, I’ll have to go back to my office to get a specialized Glossy Paper Hook. Since it’s been in there for more than fourteen hours it’s gained a consistency not unlike wet cement and completely cut off your only source of air, rendering you long dead and I’ll need my special hook to fish that sucker out. Of course, if your beloved ones don’t mind I can just pop that throat open with this here pocketknife and clear it out with my finger. You can wait for some fancy Mortician to do it but I’m already here and it’ll be free of charge if you let me keep the wad. The missus back home has a pretty nasty paper mache habit.

#magazines #choking

Yvette takes a stand.

Yvette couldn’t believe the way he was acting. It was outrageous. He was being so disrespectful to her clay pot. The one she had worked so hard on. It was beloved. It was cherished and just absolutely darling. She put a lot of love into it and it was ignored and to Yvette, that felt like the last straw. That was it. No more gifts. No more nicely prepared meals. No more free rides. Did Kaleb think gas was free? No, it was paid for by her macramé business that she started all on her own. The one he shows absolutely no interest in. And to not even comment on the craftsmanship of her work! Kaleb would have to learn to change his own poopy diapers if this was how he was going to treat Yvette. She had self-respect. Yvette had feelings, damn it, and she had come far in that respect and wouldn’t be trompled all over by these tiny, chubby feet in miniature shoes. Yvette wouldn’t be taken advantage of that way. It made her so mad that she could spit. Right in his little pink face. Or on his fluff of whispy hair.

#self #respect

Jefferson rests at night.

Are you paying attention to what you’re reading? No, you’re nodding off at your desk. Former President Thomas Jefferson would be so disappointed in you. He never once nodded off at a desk. He’d trash talk you to his slave women during a rare lapse into bawdy humor. Performing the jerk-off gesture frequently and making the face of an idiot, he’d suggest that you spend too many hours abusing yourself in the night when you should have been resting. Jefferson would take several vigorous constitutionals before going to bed along with his slave women, having unprotected sex with all of them several times. All of the exercise would enable him to have a restful night’s sleep and he would be in top form the next day to come up with all kinds of great ideas like American Democracy and drafting blueprints for a precursor to the Sybian.

#history #unprotected sex

Shrimps

He was eating shrimp from a Styrofoam container and throwing the tails on the floor of the train. He’d eaten at least nine or ten shrimp before a fairly annoyed Old Woman spoke up, complaining that his shrimp refuse would not only soon begin to stink but they were also attracting children, gesturing to two small girls who were pretending the shrimp tails were holding a suffragette meeting underneath the Man’s seat. He kicked at them yelling “Scat!” and “Scram!” and the two girls scuttled down the aisle and out of sight. “Happy?” the Man with shrimp sneered. “I kicked those children for you.” The Old Woman looked disappointed at the Man with the Styrofoam container filled with shrimp. She duplicated herself for emphasis and the Man who was holding all of the shrimp in the Styrofoam container took his attitude down a notch but not really in a sincere manner. He just didn’t want to make a scene in front of all of his shrimp. He didn’t want to lose their respect. They had talked about how he was always getting into fights he couldn’t win like with his supervisor and duplicating old women. He was only supposed to fight with people he knew he could beat like his children and other people’s children and semi-conscious drunks and little girls playing with suffragette shrimp tails.

#manners #sea life

Oh, that’s an interesting machine.

You better put the steel ball in that groove there so it can roll down the groove into the little thing that looks like a ferris wheel and the steel ball hangs out in a little gondola all on it’s own with no friend to share the circular experience with and then it is eventually dumped out into another groove where it just travels down a zig zag path going faster and faster until it hits a little sign that says GO and the ball hits it so fast that the sign spins and winds up a piece of string around its bar and the last of the string pulls a lever that does nothing very interesting at all.

#modern machines #interesting

I’m sorry I am frequently writing about birds. I can’t help it.

A Mourning Dove built its nest in the nook of a tree a few feet away from our bathroom window. It was so close that we could reach through the slats of the window and swat the nest to the ground if we were so inclined. We didn’t know it was a Mourning Dove at first. It was just a grayish bland looking bird, but since it was the first grayish bland looking bird to build its nest within swatting distance of me it became a special grayish bland bird and I wanted to know a little bit more about it. I learned that the Mourning Dove is an extremely common bird and it usually laid two eggs per egg laying sesh, which seemed reasonable to me because it had a 58% mortality rate. Several times a day, I would open the window to check on the bird. To see what it was up to. Most of the time it was just sitting in the nest, probably waiting for my terrible, massive head to go away and stop freaking it out. Sometimes, it would not be in the nest and we could see the tips of the eggs. Eventually the eggs hatched and two baby Mourning Doves could be seen nesting or what-have-you underneath their parent. One day, we found that the nest was empty. One of the babies was missing but the other was standing, flapping its wings wildly, just barely making it to from branch to branch. The parent landed nearby, cooing, and then the pair flew off and that was that.

#bird #birds

You should go to the Dentist every six months!

It turned out that this clown was only pretending to be a Dentist! He wasn’t a real Dentist at all! Just another damn clown. I thought it was strange that my Dentist had the whole get-up on. I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t recognize that it wasn’t Dr. Shruelborg right away. I hope his feelings weren’t hurt. All of the make up and the clown nose made it kind of tricky and I only go to the dentist once a year and it already takes me a moment or two before I recognize him. He always looks a little different from what I remember. I did recognize that he was dressed as a clown, though. I noticed that practically right away. I’m not dense. I just assumed the Dental Group was having some kind of theme day. Like a circus theme for fun. And maybe they offered deals for circus people or people dressed as circus people. Except that Dr. Shurlburg had gotten the day wrong but just decided to roll with it. It had also occurred to me that perhaps Dr. Shulbourg had enrolled in Clown College and had class right after our appointment and was going to rush off. Or maybe he was like a Dental Patch Adams! It soon dawned on me that none of these were the case. The give-away was that the Clown only stood in the corner gripping a handful of dental tools, smiling intensely at me. And that he had been at it for at least five minutes. When Dr. Shrimbulgh finally entered, he screamed: “He’s back!” At which point the Clown stabbed my dentist in the face with a handful of dental implements. Dr. Shruelbork screamed, a plague picker hanging from his face.

#teeth #clowns

Sad Café

Everyone had a pretty emotional lunch when the Sad Café opened down the street. There weren’t many decent options by the office so when they saw a new place was opening up in the abandoned Hookah lounge, mutterings of a lunch outing spread like wild fire. When they saw that the name was A Sad Café, few were deterred. Although, Jayne didn’t care for the name and was already attached to the steamed vegetables that she ate daily so she bid her co-workers adieu, manning the phones and eating lunch at her desk so they could venture down the street and see how sad of a café it really was.

It had black walls and was sparsely decorated. The lone waitress seemed neither sad nor rude but did carry an air of melancholy about her. Devin, who got down with bummed out girls, thought she was cute and made a lot of small talk which embarrassed Sabrina, who felt like he was making an ass of himself. The food was okay for the price but Trevor didn’t like his sandwich and kept trying to trade it someone else’s meal. And he made such a stink that people gave him a bit of all of their meals, resulting in him having a great deal more food than everyone else. Despite that, he resented Mary for not giving him her chopped liver salad. Mary could recognize the resentment and felt a little guilty but she thought Trevor was being rude and also felt bad about feeling that way. It also made her regret trying to be sociable with her co-workers. Lunch was her break from being in a big room filled with these people. And none of them were particularly friendly. Sabrina kept shooting looks at Devin and Trevor was shooting looks at her and Will noticed all the look shooting and was sad. “Why couldn’t we all get along?” He wondered. It was their lunch break and they should try and be positive. The co-workers all left the café feeling not necessarily sad but certainly less happy and carefree than they had before they’d entered. When they returned to the office they found that Jayne had cleaned her desk, put on a favorite song, and taken a lethal dose of barbiturates.

#happy #thanksgiving

Good Citizenry

Listen, pal, I yelled at eighteen people on my way to work today so I don’t want to hear anything about me not giving back to the community and the world at large. I make the world a better place every time I open my mouth. And that’s because every time I open my mouth, I shout at someone. I call everyone on all of their bullshit. You think that’s easy? You say I’m just yelling but I am informing. I’m a wealth of information. These people, all the other citizens of our fair city- They don’t know what they’re doing. You’ve got to wrangle them. You have to lead them. Push and shove them. That’s the only way to get them to do the right thing.

For instance, I saw a guy with his feet up on the train and you know that guy may have stepped in shit and he’s putting his shit covered shoes on the seats where people rest their rumps. It’s sick! And you know I told him as much and at great length. I screamed “What’s wrong with you!?” and called him Guttertrash. And I kicked the seat next to him and smacked my hand against the window for emphasis and screamed: “I can’t believe you!” And eventually he just got off the train but you better believe that he’ll think twice before putting his feet up on the seat. Then there was this lady eating very loudly in the restaurant I was getting lunch at and boy did I give her an earful. The whole restaurant got an earful because we all need to be instructive. It’s the community’s job to keep everyone in line and I’m tired of all the slacking.

#community service #guttertrash

FBI Skateboarders.

In the FBI Parking Lot at the intersection of Wilshire and Veterans Ave, there is a young teenage couple. Loitering around illegally as most loiterers tend to do. There is one skateboard between them and the male teen is teaching the female teen how to ride it. Several agents watch this from their dark building. Agent McManus was the one who had originally spotted the teens while leaving late one day. When she saw them, she involuntarily told the kids to “Scram!” surprising herself with the word and the vehemence with which she shouted it. It was probably the first time she ever used the word.

As McManus watches them now, several stories high, joined by other curious agents, she is calmer. She notices that the girl has gotten significantly better, or at least steadier, on the board. Maybe she was a fast learner or maybe the fundamentals of Skateboarding aren’t that difficult to pick up. McManus never had any interest in it when she was a teen. It was certainly much more taboo, especially where she grew up. She could only faintly imagine what it felt like to stand on one.

#xtreme sports #investigation

Smooth Operator.

He would just sit and seem like he was going somewhere and blast Marvin Gaye on the subway until a woman would inevitably approach him and he would be extremely charming and smooth and they would eventually have sex with one another. And sometimes men would proposition him and he would have sex with them. And sometimes people would be annoyed and they would have to have a fight but they would also have sex.

#train #dating

Fig Whistling

Sure, Head Fig Whistler at the Third Largest Fig Farm in Cambot County isn’t the most glamorous job but it’s my job and I intend to do my best everyday. That’s why I don’t drink on the job. It may be a popular stereotype for Fig Whistlers to be drunks and there are certainly some Whistlers who think they whistle better while drunk. But I think that if you have to be drunk to whistle at figs then you’re not a real Fig Whistler. I don’t imagine that anyone does their best work while drunk. But whistling on Angel Dust? Well, buddy, then you’re whistling with the Angels. You’re whistling up there in the sky. And that’s the kind of joyful whistling that the Figs love the most. That’s the kind of whistling that makes your figs grow really big and juicy. The kind of figs that can really make the farm. The kind of figs that bring home the butterflies. The kind of figs even God could love.

#figs #pcp

Recipe for disaster.

So then how do you process a terrible event? Well, first off, you’ll need a medium sized pan. 2 cups of orange juice. Two tsp of sugar. ¾ cup green onions (shallots can be substituted if the event is only moderately terrible). 1 bunch radishes, chopped. 1 egg. And some salt. Bring the juice and sugar to a boil, then add the green onions and cook for about two minutes. Next add the radishes and boil for about ten minutes. Then take the whole egg and put it in the pan. While vigorously salting the egg, roll it around on the pan at a high heat for about a minute then remove, disposing of the egg in a receptacle furthest from the pan. After taking out the trash, remove mix from the heat. Serve at room temperature.

#recipe #directions

Old Man Johnson and His Place

Have you see the Old Johnson place these days? Boy, is she a beaut. That whole place is a real beaut since those Koreans moved in. Old Man Johnson could never take care of that place, even before all his various ailments and terrible joint problems. He had a sour attitude and a man like that can’t do much but watch the walls crumble down before his eyes. When he died, Deputy Josie told me the Old Man had nineteen old magazines in his place. Nineteen! Now how’s a man let the debris of humanity build up like that? Get a dust bin, doggone-it!

#cleaning #koreans

Breathe.

You’ll find that you can breathe a little easier if you remove your hands from around your throat. And perhaps you might learn something if you opened those books and stopped absentmindedly stomping on them. And remember to open your eyes while reading! Otherwise, you won’t learn a damn thing! Stand straight and tall and keep your wits about you. If you leave your wits lying in any old place, they’ll never do you any good. Then you might not be able to get them when you need them. Like if your building is beset with terrorists or thieves, how will you successfully defend yourself and protect others and your building if you are busy dilly-dallying about in your mind thinking this ole thing or that. How will you think outside the box or use ingenuity to save the day if you aren’t being 100% aware of your surroundings at all times, ready to leap into action within moments. How will you be able to help your fellow man if you can’t stop thinking about yourself and your own problems? How will you do anyone a bit of good if you are staying in all day worrying about whether you’ll spend another afternoon in an uncontrollable rage choking the life out of yourself while picturing your hands as your great, great, great grandfather’s hands visiting from beyond the grave to punish you for your selfish and spoiled behavior?

#self improvement #ghost hands

The Importance of Bees.

I like Bees. Or maybe the better way to put it is: I respect the role of Bees. I understand that they are important members of our ecosystem, even though I’m not sure what terrors their absence might bring. They appear to have a relatively busy time of it all, whatever it is. They seem to have a tough job. And they get a bad rap too! A lot of people aren’t fans of ‘em. After all, a simple misunderstanding can cause a bee to sting. Just like how a cop may shoot an old lady if they view her as a threat, if her appearance and actions resemble that of some violent thug. Bees and Cops have that power and so we must hold them differently. They are not houseflies or librarians. They are important for honey production and keeping order. But when I see a Bee or a Cop, I feel my demeanor change because I know the situation is completely in their hands or wings. Rationally, I know, the Bee probably does not want to sting me but the situation is theirs to dictate. And if a Cop wants to rub their fluffy underside in my Lavender plant, that is their prerogative and if I try to stop them, I may be asking for trouble. But I trust they won’t do that. And that’s all I have. A trust, a hope that they will buzz by and leave me to my life. That they will always buzz by, continuing to keep the balance. And why should a bee sting me? I am white, after all.

#nature #racist bees

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