cabman #11

“man…i was just leaving this place after work, and the craziest shit…”

“what happened?”

“i was about to get into my car, and i hear this noise. sort of metallic, muffled, like boom, boom, boom.”

“an explosion?”

“no…more like pounding or thumping.”

“ok.”

“yeah. three pounds or bangs or whatever. in pretty quick succession.”

“where were you?”

“i was coming out of this place.”

“what place?”

“i don’t want to go into that right now.”

“ok.”

“yeah…going into my car, and i hear that noise, and at first i think someone is in a car fuckin’.”

“your car?”

“no, A car.”

“oh.”

“you’re completely killing my story.”

“i am?”

“you’re focusing on all the wrong things.”

“you’re telling it.”

“i’m trying to. now, listen to me. so i’m about to get into my car, and i hear this noise. like thumping or something…BOOM BOOM BOOM…and at first, i thought someone was gettin’ it on in the parking lot.”

“ok.”

“yeah…except it wasn’t constant.”

“not constant?”

“no…there were pauses. you know, i’d hear the pounding, and then it would stop for a moment, and then it would start back up again. so, i figured it wasn’t some fuckin’ goin’ on…it was someone trapped in a trunk somewhere.”

“really?”

“yeah man, i mean, my balls got all tight and everything.”

“yuck. what for?”

“what for? BECAUSE SOMEONE’S TRAPPED IN A FUCKIN’ TRUNK!!! there was no telling what kind of horror i could have stumbled upon. i mean, they could’ve been all bloody and naked and shit. and, you know, i would have been obligated to help them escape. they might have wanted me to help get revenge on their captors. i didn’t want to get caught up in some kind of Columbian drug deal gone bad. not at five o’clock in the morning.”

“what are you talking about?”

“so i started walking through the parking lot, looking for where the sound was coming from. and the more i heard it, the more certain i was that someone was trapped in a trunk. my balls…”

“i know. so did you find them?”

“my nuts?”

“the person in the trunk.”

“naw man. there wasn’t nobody in a trunk. that’s what i was about to tell you. i started walking towards the sound, and after about five steps, i realized that the sound wasn’t in the parking lot at all. it was over the hill, down on the highway below. there was some construction work down there. they were using some hydraulic equipment to bust up some pavement.”

“so there was no one in a trunk either?”

“nope. i walked around looking – like i said – but i didn’t see anything, just that construction work on the highway below. i just walked over to the hillside and watched the sun rise over the hills above the river. it was beautiful.”

“are you high?”

“like giraffe ass.”

“man…i gotta go to work. what are you gonna do?”

“i’m gonna watch a little bit of the Flintstones and then take a nap. call me when you leave work early. i wanna go catch some catfish.”

and now for something completely different

Crazy Artie -vs.- Crazy Alice

tha next episode

if anyone calls, ask them if what's her name gave that to 'em.
and then crip walk yo ass over to fttw on Mondays for shit from johnny.

professionalism #20

“what time is it?”

“3:30.”

“is that it? it feels like we just got back from lunch.”

“we did.”

“we should have taken longer.”

“yep.”

“this is bullshit. i should’ve entered the real estate market in Puerto Rico along time ago. this one guy i know, he…”

“i can’t take this,” i say.

“what you got? you don't want it? i’ll take it.”

“no. this meeting,” i say. “this bullshit. i’m leaving.”

“you’re leaving?”

“later on,” i said, and pushed my chair back and walked towards the doors, adjusting my tie on the way out. i kept my head lowered, but not down. i didn’t look anyone in the eye as i headed out, but i didn’t look away either. breathe slow, i thought, you’re almost out.

through the glass, i could see this girl – vaguely Asian, long hair, glasses, a bag slung over one shoulder – with her hand on the door handle. she was coming in when i was going out. i opened the door and smiled, held it, waited until she was safely inside, then ambled back to my seat next to the Doktor. i knew that i wouldn’t be getting out of this any time soon.

“what happened?” he said.

“what do you mean? didn’t you see…”

“you’re pathetic. remind me to find someone else if i ever need to break out of jail. you don’t have the stomach for it. sometimes, you just gotta be raw. you know what i mean? RAW.”

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

the Doktor was working himself into a frenzy, or perhaps just devolving into some kind of methamphetamine delirium. “you gotta do more than keep it in mind, son. you gotta live that shit. LIVE IT!!!"

“alright. fuck. live it raw. i gotcha.”

“hey…watch this.” it was then that the Doktor stood up from his seat and looked at this lady from accounting sitting next to him. “no i DO NOT want to hear a black joke,” he said. “do these people even KNOW you fixed the Final Four pool this year? hmmm? well i think maybe you should TELL THEM!!!" breathing heavily through the mouth, he went on to accuse her of insulting his ancestry, of defecating in her pants, and of stealing his office supplies. he even threatened to turn her in for blowing the janitors for five bucks a pop in the mop closet. the old lady, clearly confused and insulted beyond repair, headed towards the door, with the Doktor in hot pursuit.

strangely, few in the room seemed to even notice.

i had just found that girl in the sea of brainless heads in the room when the Doktor reappeared at the conference room door. the head of Security pushed him back into the room and quickly disappeared. the Doktor let loose a forlorn roar.

“hey,” he wailed, “there’s no surprise party in here for me!!!” he came back and took the empty seat next to me.

“man, you’re like fuckin’ Steve McQueen,” i said.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you’re like…i don’t know…like fuckin’ real smooth. subtle. nice job escaping. that old bird is probably overdosing on cheesecake as we speak.”

“fuck her,” he said, “she gives shit blow jobs. five bucks my ass. hey…gimme some of that water.”

“no,” i said, “no. you can't have any of this. you got some shit on your lip anyway.”

“come on dude…i’m thirsty.”

“no.”

“give it.”

“NO!!!"

“GIVE IT!!!"

“why you…”

in the process of wresting the half-drunk water bottle from my hand, the Doktor managed to empty its contents onto my lap. my crotch. it looked like i pissed myself.

“look at this. i’m a mess.”

“you ain’t kiddin’. you’re a train wreck. clean yourself up. it looks like you’ve been masturbating. you’re knuckles are white from inner tension. where’s your tea shades. YOU’RE A DOPE FEIND!!!"

“well, i’ve got a legit reason to leave now,” i said.

as i was walking towards the door, i was trying to survey the damage done. i didn’t notice the girl – the one from before – arrive at the door at the same time. i looked up and met her eyes. her’s went right to my crotch. she raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue as she rolled out of the room.

“hey,” i yelled after, “hey it’s because that water was cold. seriously.”

i stood there in the low lit hallway of corporate America, trying to figure out where it all went wrong and where to go next. after brushing my pants a few more times, i turned towards the stairwell to make my escape. before i turned the handle on the door, it popped open to reveal that old lady from accounting. there was a gang of old bitches with her, and i’d quickly surmised they were out for blood, whipped into some kind of atavistic fury from the Doktor’s slander and his certain failure to pay the hooker tab.

their eyes met mine and then went down to my crotch. and then they came back up. i barely heard the old bag yell “GET ‘IM GIRLS!!!" and they were on my like a pack of hyenas, clubbing me with their umbrellas and handbags. they chased me back towards the conference room, and sent me backwards into the room tumbling.

“PERVERT!!!" they yelled, and slammed the door behind. the Doktor slid down his chair and huddled nervously on the floor. i could hear them yell from the hall, “LET’S FIND HIS FRIEND…HE’S PROBABLY PEEPING IN THE LADIES ROOM AS USUAL!!!"

“godamm,” i said, sizing the bump on my head, “they don’t play around.”

“no they don’t,” the Doktor whispered, “and they’re anticipating my next move. we’ve got to leave here immediately and we’ve got to be careful.”

marah

this isn't the first time Marah has graced these pages, and i doubt it will be the last. there are worse things someone could play when asked, "put on some American music," but maybe nothing better.

it's all here, i think.

country-fried rhythm and blues music played by punk rockers from the center of the city. poetry from back alleys. diehard dreams and broken hearts on their sleeves. beercan stumbling.

this is the one that's been stuck in my head all week. from Let's Cut the Crap and Hook up Later on Tonight, i promise it sounds nothing and exactly like everything else they put down.



listen: marah - formula, cola, dollar draft
buy: marah rekkids, if you know what's good for you

"more internal bitching & squabbling and crazed jealous treachery than in a tribe of Hyenas in heat"

if anyone calls, tell them i don't give a motherfuck how many cars they see me drive, or see cash fallin' out my ass, i got diamond rings and i'm eatin' three steaks and offer them a goddamm hamburger.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

over the hump

there is an old lady who lives in my building. she has two dogs – one, the black one, is a Labrador and the other, newer one, is a Pit Bull. i usually see her mornings, when i’m coming home from work, and she is taking the dogs out for a walk.

mostly, those two animals run her roughshod over the parking lot and strips of grass that surround the building. i get a malicious kind of joy watching her follow the dogs, anticipating a shit with a few sheets of newspaper. when one of them humps over, she quickly splays the paper down on the ground under the dog’s ass. one time, she got all tangled up in leashes when one dog was tryin’ to cop a squat and the other crossed over to sniff its ass.

i’m basically nice to the old broad because – let’s be honest – she could have me arrested for any number of felonies that occur in and around my place on a regular basis.

and therein lies my problem.

Sunday morning, i was coming home from work and i’m extra pissed because of the jump to Daylight Savings Time. she’s out and about with her two animals, only this time, she’s in between me and the stairwell doorway. i’m not feeling much like a chit-chat, but for fuck’s sake, i can at least try and be cordial.

not long after she begins, the Pit starts bumping my hand with its nose. i tried to pet it, but it’s half-biting at my hand and slobbering all over the place. as soon as i stopped, it reared up and put its front paws on my arm, starts barking in my face. the old lady tried as best she could to get the dog down and apologized all the while for getting my suit muddy. i was about to tell her it wasn’t a big deal, when i was caught mid-sentence by a whack to my balls. the Pit had buried its nose in my crotch.

it was an awkward situation to say the least. i pushed the dog away as best i could, but it growled at me and bared its teeth. the old lady had become distracted with the Lab, who was painfully trying to shit on the asphalt in the parking lot. and to be honest with you, i was too. not shitting in the parking lot, you twisted fuckers, i mean watching the dog do its business. that shit is funny. you’ve seen it before, when a dog’s taking a crap, it looks out of the corners of its eyes like its all scared or something. anyway…while i’m laughing up my sleeve at the dog, the other one – the Pit – grabs hold of my left leg and starts going to town.

“whoa. Whoa!!! a little help here,” i said.

the old lady begins laughing. “looks like you two are getting along just fine.”

i tried to shake my leg and shake the dog loose to no avail. it stopped moving only long enough to look me in the eyes and growl. and when i reached down to push it off, it snapped viciously at my hand, never breaking its rhythm.

“when he gets like this, he’s like a wrecking machine and twice as dangerous. it’s best just to let him finish off.”

Finish Off? what kind of sick and twisted place have i decided to call home? i live in the company of fiends. monsters in old ladies’ clothes. wild animals. right-wing pigeons. chronic cough syrup abusers. human smugglers. mongers. mouth breathers. witchdoctors. identity thieves. shylocks. forgery artists. lottery addicts. mailbox vandals. aging hookers. gun runners. fashion victims. acid casualties. young republicans. bad tippers. poachers. sexual deviants. litterbugs. art school dropouts. poor sports. lawyers. video bootleggers. scofflaws. new wave crack baby criminals. dimestore hoods. hooligans, thugs, gangsters, muggers, ruffians, brutes, and heavies.

the last thing you’d want to do is let these people know that you’ll roll over, cuz once you do, they’ll come to expect it. and their dogs ain't no different.

spank rock

what?
it ain't no more to it.



listen: spank rock - bump
buy: spank rock records

"Foul Balls and Rash Predictions"

if anyone calls, tell them that it's out of my range and it's grown.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

cabman #10

i’m looking for these kids.

right now, those savage little bastards are probably crouching behind bushes, half-naked in this foul-weather, waiting to pounce on mailmen or brush salesmen or elderly mothers on their way to serve free lunches at the church. i’m sure i heard their terrible screams just the other night, along with the lonesome wail of a three-legged dog they were no doubt menacing with a fireplace poker.

i had picked up this old man and was taking him across the river to “137 Patterson, my Missus place.” it’s a mostly residential area where he wanted to go, with some row houses here and there and a bunch of houses packed really closely together. so, i’m driving through the side streets, and it’s a really slow go. cars pretty much lined both sides of those narrow-ass streets. there’s a stop sign on every corner. i got to one of them – an intersection with a hill running north to south – and the car just gets fucking pounded with snowballs. must have been a dozen or better.

the juvenile delinquents were up the hill a little ways, but they weren’t trying to hide or anything. they were all laughing, baring their hideous yellow teeth sharp as razor claws. i opened up the car door and managed to stand with one leg outside of the vehicle before the snowballs began to fly again, and i had to hurriedly duck back inside. this time, they were gunning for my head. snow spattered against the driver’s-side window and ricocheted off the door. one or two managed to explode and scatter snow all over my seat. it wasn’t long after i sat down again that my marbles were soaked and cold from melted snow.

i cursed their mothers and the days they were born.

the old man in the back, well, he just started chuckling. “i’m gonna get them,” i told him, “matter of fact…” i turned the wheel to head up the hill after them, but the old man gave a shout.

“hey,” he said, “the meter’s running.”

he was right. those unnatural little punks were still grinning up at the top of the hill. most of them had their arms at their sides, but a few were hunched over, scooping small piles of snow together and getting ready for another assault. i eyed them warily as i pulled away.

the old man was still chuckling in the backseat. “that shit ain’t funny. someone could’ve been killed.” i said.

“come on,” he said, “it wasn’t like they were throwing rocks from a highway overpass.”

“i’m not talking about me getting killed. I’M TALKING ABOUT THEM!!!”

later, just before he got out of the cab, he put his hand on my shoulder and he said, “the good in a man is revealed by how he treats the least of those amongst him.”

with that, he got out of the car, ambled slowly up the steps to his Missus’s place, and casually tossed a snowball down onto the hood of my car before he disappeared in the doorway.

yeah. so like i said…i’m looking for these kids.

urge overkill

often times
people they find
they're not blind
yeah, they just don't see

you've been a dropout ever since you turned seventeen

listen: urge overkill - dropout
buy: urge overkill records

"A Wild & Woolly Tale of Sporting Excess"

if anyone calls, tell them the fat is in the fire.

stop by Mondays at fttw for shit from johnny.

sex film bomb

“why did i have to meet you here? you thinking of finishing your degree?”

the Doktor breathes deep. “you smell that?”

“yeah, sure. what’s it…like a grill or something. a little bit of garlic. smells good. i’m hungry, let’s get a taco.”

“no, you asshole. look around you,” he points here and there to some girls walking along paths between buildings. “that smell.”

“yeah.”

“that’s pussy.”

“really.”

“yes.”

“well, thank you for that little bit of information. hey, uh…what the fuck are you on anyway?”

“me? i’m only high on life, my friend, high on life. ah, yes. just look around you. college life. wealth. privilege. naïveté. the opportunities are wide open here. this place is largely untouched…full of young, nubile, innocent female minds, yearning to broaden their horizions and…”

“it’s ripe for a scam.”

“precisely.”

“yeah, well you can find some other lackey, ok, cuz the last time you had something foolproof, i came down with dysentery and nearly lost my pinky finger.”

“i didn’t know she was prone to seizures.”

“well, whatever. count me the fuck out.”

“look at you. all riled up and you don’t even know why. hey…would i ever steer you wrong? hmmm? don’t i look out for you? hmmm? who pulled you out of that burning building?”

“BUT YOU LIT IT, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”

“my point is, i wouldn’t get you into something that wasn’t a 100% guaranteed, A-1, no-brainer money maker.”

“i get half?”

“there’d be no other way.”

“alright. i got crowd control.”

“PUT THAT THING AWAY!!! Christ, can you be a little more business-like for one minute?”

“what do you mean? this lets people know that you mean business. check out the business end.”

“stop that. STOP THAT. put that away. now…just follow my lead, ok? hit the ‘down’ button.”

“you go down a lot, don’t you?”

“shut up. be professional.”

“word.”

we wait in silence. the elevator seems to be taking an inordinate amount of time, and some people have begun milling about, waiting for the car to take us all south. when it arrives, we step on and i cordially hold the door for some stragglers.

as i am surveying the scene, the Doktor says, “35 millimeter.”

“what?” i say.

“the cameras,” he says, rather loudly. “i’ve got them out in the van.”

“huh? oh. OH!!! the cameras. right. sure. in the van. gotcha.”

“yeah,” he says, “we’ve got the house for the weekend. it’s laid out. Lance is gonna shoot this one.” the elevator stops and a few people get off but no one else gets on. the car continues on it’s way.

“Lance,” i say, “i like him. cool guy.”

“yeah…it’s a pretty big budget, considering. all we need now is another actress.”

“who are the others?” i say. the Doktor doesn’t answer, but looks at me sideways, then full-on. he’s gritting his teeth together, and nodding his head towards a Blonde standing next to him. “hello,” i say to her, but she just rolls her eyes and looks at the lit numbers descending above the elevator door. when it reaches the bottom floor, everyone except me and the Doktor files out.

“what the fuck was that?” he says.

“yeah…what the fuck was it? what were you trying to do in there? set me up for a date?”

“no you asshole. we’re doing a porno shoot.”

“we are?”

“yeah.”

“since when?”

“since when? WHAT DO YOU THINK THE PLAN IS???”

“i don’t know, man. i don’t know what’s up with your…selection.”

“my selection?”

“yeah. i thought you said this was a sure thing. and then you’re all motioning towards that Blonde. i mean, she totally wasn’t my type.”

“you have got nothing to do with it?”

“what do you mean? i’m a co-owner of this business.”

“you’re about to be the sole owner of a black eye.”

“oh yeah?”

“YEAH!!!”

and we begin to fight, punching and rolling around in that filthy elevator, full of cracked-rust piss stains and black water from slushy winter boots. the elevator doors open at the top and there are about a dozen or so people waiting to get on. we quickly pull ourselves from the floor. i fix my tie and cordially hold the door for some stragglers.

“we good?” the Doktor says.

“beautiful,” i say, “ok.”

after a few floors, the Doktor says, “35 millimeter.”

“perfect,” i say. “those are amazing for some tight beaver shots. you got lens caps this time?”

“what?”

“cuz last time, juices were flying everywhere. and forget about it once that shit dries. it took those guys hours to chip it off. remember that?”

“uh…yeah,” he says, “and we’ve got the house rented for the weekend. it’s…”

“fucking fantastic,” i say, “i can’t wait to get those girls in one of those wicker chairs out on the patio. put some red marks on their ass. and that swing,” i say, “WOO-HOO!!! those bitches will look like they’re skiing. a pole in each hand, baby. A POLE IN EACH HAND!!!”

“hey…keep that shit under wraps a bit,” the Doktor says.

“i ain’t wrappin’ shit. i’m goin’ in bareback. make sure them bitches got their tests up-to-date. and no crabs like last time either.”

“Lance doesn’t like a lot of…”

“NO-PANTS LANCE!!! holy shit. he’s gonna be there too?”

“yeah…it wasn’t easy getting him to come by for the shoot. he’s a very famous…”

“that pervert. hey, is he still making those barnyard films down in central Texas? cuz if he is, i don’t want nothin’ to do with that dude. hey, tell me something. who’s greasin’ up the midgets?”

“…uh…i don’t know anything about that, but we’ve got a really big budget for this…”

“you hear that bitches? we got a big budget for this one. you know what that means!!! you’ll be doin’ blow offa boners in no time. now, who wants to be a movie star? hmmm? you? you? no? anyone? how ‘bout you? hey, it’s cool. we got some lesbian scenes, too. looks like you’d like that, no?”

the elevator door opens and a few of the girls run off, a few more turn and stare and utter obscenities at us. and one, just before the door closes again, turns and sprays me and the Doktor with pepper spray.

“ouch.”

“MY EYES!!! MY EYES!!!”

“calm down,” i say, tasting the familiar sting on my lips. “it’s only pepper spray.”

“MY EYES!!!”

“will you relax? it’s not mace. now come on. i’ve got some milk in the car. we can wash our eyes out.”

“i…GODDAMMIT this shit stings.”

“you get used to it. it’s like eating hot peppers.”

“what?”

“you build-up a tolerance.”

“i…i thought…YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO FOLLOW MY LEAD!!!”

“what are you talking about? where you in the same elevator? i did. i mean, i thought i did a pretty good job. hey, you still got those cameras? cuz i know someone who will take them off your hands. plus i still get half, right?”

“awww fuck. where are we? i’m hungry. let’s get a taco.”