Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant he had
been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had
to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone
calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to
Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would
date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.
But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when
he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning
underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he
pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of
some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion.
It was more than the human mind could bear.
Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual
abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand how
she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped
every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile. She needed him, and
he wasn't there (Awww...).
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers' Parade was scheduled
to appear. He'd just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar
fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from
Marsha. There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company
of America inquiring into his awing needs. At least they cared enough to write.
It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck
him. He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself
parcel post, special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to
purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a
medium sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that
with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes,
some water, perhaps some midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as
going tourist.
By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post
office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package
"Fragile", and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber
cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and
happiness on Marshas face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the
deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She
would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of
this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne
up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.
Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough
weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about
it though. After it was over he'd said he still respected her and, after all,
it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn't love her, he
did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what
Bill could teach Waldo - but that seemed many years ago.
Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen
door and into the kitchen. "Oh gawd, it's absolutely maudlin outside." "Ach, I
know what you mean, I feel all icky!" Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton
robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on
the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be
taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like
throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd
seen on television. "God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the
table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue
vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak," and then attempted to
touch her knees. "I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again."
She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the
telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on
a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him." "I
know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place."
She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. "The thing is, after a
while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn't
really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know
what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over
her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," here
she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to!" Now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang
the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson
opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his
green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den. "What do you
think it is?" Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back.
She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living
room. "I dunno."
Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the
muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down
the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who
it's from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the
vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ah, god,
it's from Waldo!" "That schmuck!" said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation.
"Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the
staple flap. "Ah sst," said Marsha, groaning, "he must have nailed it shut."
They tugged on the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this
thing open!" They pulled again. "You can't get a grip." They both stood still,
breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but
all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her
father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when
she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter
in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath.
"Here, you do it. I-I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and
exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the
end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough
room. "God damn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then smiling,
"I got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch," said Sheila, touching her
finger to her head.
Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could
barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his
heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and
walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her
knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the
long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through
the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of
Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red
to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Philosophy 101
If Sleep is the cousin of Death, then Death must be jealous of how rad his cousin is.
ive decided to start logging these stupid things I come up with.
New Concept Here:
Things that I think suck:
Rain
Not sleeping
Working
Rap Music
Dog Shit
Bugs
Rashes
Public Restrooms
Waking Up
Injuries
Bills
Different strands of flu
Being hungry
Double chins
Sweat
Wet floors
Shared towels
Bathrooms after #2s
Flying
Natural disasters
Diseases are gross
Itchy clothes
Williamsburg
"Sneaker Heads"
Time
Heroin
Autotune
Nausea
Heartburn
Indegestion
Upset Stomach
Diarrhea
Nick Cannon
Chores
Scratched DVDs
Changing lightbulbs
Most ppl that love clubs
Cole Slaw
Carrot ginger dressing
Brett Favre
CDs
Shaving
Cords and Wires
Not being able to procrastinate
Monday, June 22, 2009
Comments from a website I work for
These are some comments left (in the comments section) of some of the posts that get put up on the website I work for. Enjoy these. The stories that get the most comments usually have something to do with a female as you can see below.
"id just get her pregnant…lol then id bounce"
"damn girl you lookin real strung out… i just finshed servin a custee lookin just like her in the 2nd pic. she should turn in her pussy at the next rest area."
"lmao, dat bitch look gone as hell, dat white girl been hittin 2 much of dat white girl, ya feel me"
"Well how about instead of wearing a great person like Kanye, lets just wear all those weak ass records u made that weren’t hits u stupid fucking pink bitch fall back fuckin hater. Seems like its always a cracker tryna go at a black person."
"Get out his face hoe.. Mr.West is the greatest alive and im tired of you damn white ppl talking about saving animals and shit bitch fuck that!!!!!!How bout you save the starving kids in America cunt instead of running your lame nonsinging ass mouth.. Suck a dick quick and swallow that white shit!!1"
"I hate PETA motha fuckaz. Pink had a nice lil body and some swag when she 1st came out. Now she is a gross has been trying to get some attention. Show biz… she should be trying to suck the nigga off honestly."
"fuck that eat chicken and have bbqs nigga fuck off white hoe!"
"my nigga jeezy needa get rowdy and knock juicemans weak ass out…juiceman lame as fuk…and for gucci fuk that clown too..i meman i fuks wit gucci when i wanna hear some trunk music…but i always listen to my nigga jeezy reguardless"
"Fuck Jeezy he pussy anyway!!! They gone put jeezy ass on ice like they did TI. jeezy dont want no beef wit the kings of trap They bout they money….AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
"
"that gucci lookin fruity mane"
"id eat outta her ass…on life i would"
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
New Link ---------->
Minimal-wave.org
Check it out. Also go to the East Village Radio link they have on the left. It links to an awesome show with all archives.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Zoo York Video Premier
At the Sunshine theater on Houston. Just got back. Vid is dope. Real good soundtrack. I was trying to work on getting some songs cleared with the kid that was helping them out with that. They did a good job. Theater was packed. Eli definitely had the best part. He was doing some Mariano in Mouse shit at times. Good video, I'm definitely buying it when it comes out officially.
