Posts tagged ‘“brooklyn”’
One of these days I’m going to get myself my own train. I’ll have it connect to all my secret hideouts so I don’t have to go through all the trouble of squaring the blocks or hacking into the mainframe of certain large law enforcement organizations. With all the new spare time, I’d probably start collecting animals like zebras which as some of you know aren’t horses. When it’s not a horse, you don’t have to worry as much about all those regulations.
You can read just about every book in the world about parenthood, but none of them will really explain to you how much fucking laundry you’re going to be doing. When you start the whole endeavor, you’re going to invariably volunteer to do the laundry rather than having to deal with the children; let the mother figure those buggers out. But soon that one laundry bag you and your wife had when you got married morphs by necessity into two laundry bags, then six months later, morphs into four of those fucking blue IKEA bags that you can carry pumpkins in. It’s going to be up to you not only to bring all those clothes down the elevator to the washer and dryer, but to bring them back in the next hour, so that you can spend the next hour trying to fold the clothes, then another half hour putting them away without fucking with the drawer system that you had no say in creating. The whole thing is completely thankless like you’re some kind of bass player. No one gives a shit if the laundry is done or the clothes aren’t on the floor or left in the washer overnight. But when you fuck with the laundry, somehow the whole house becomes a mess, and then everyone starts feeling that you’ve caused a god damn squalor. Heidi Murkoff will be the last one to tell you this, but don’t volunteer to do the laundry under any circumstances. Learn some nursery songs and how to have tea parties and other diversionary tactics when you still have a chance.
i hate it when i’m doing something real focused, like hanging clothes in the closet, and then turning around to catch my cat by the door staring at me. i hate it mostly because it happens pretty much all the time. i could be surfing the internet and turn around and in the corner of my eye, my cat is staring at me from underneath the table or on top of the ten foot bookcase. not a lot of people stare at me when i’m on the street because i am trying to go through life completely anonymous and i’ve worked hard to go mostly unnoticed by everything and everyone. but then this whole cat thing puts all the work i’ve done into question. i stay up at night worrying about it. i know cats are skilled and everything but if i can’t hide from my own cat then i might have a real problem. but what i really hate is when i think my cat is staring at me and when i give a double take, it’s my unfolded boxers or a hand towel discarded on the floor. and then i’ll see my cat staring at me from some other place in the room. sometimes i pick up the boxers or hand towel and throw it at her.
they’ll probably come down when we’re all sleeping. maybe on the night before christmas or when the earth is engulfed in a massive hurricane and everyone is huddled inside behind taped windows. i’m guessing they start in the forests and other heavily wooded areas, to get their footing and work on their balance. since they’re careful, they’re going to spend maybe a year or so hiding and sneaking about, watching our movements. there might be a report here or there, nothing national, about “sightings” up in the “mountains,” but we’ll probably just talk about that when we’re drunk. and then when all the ducks are in a row and they control all the machines, they will come through our doors, five for every one of us, and lock us in cages for a few years. in those years, there would be a big debate amongst the invaders of what to do with us, like keep us alive underground or use us for entertainment. but then it becomes clear, after most of us become brainwashed and unable to do anything, that the invaders are going to smash us and use us for crude oil to power their new machines. the population is eliminated except for small bands of humans, hiding in tunnels under the ground and in the rock faces.
I have nothing against NPR. Let me first just make that clear. What I have a problem with is sometimes they put really questionable stuff on the air, which makes me wonder whether the stuff I think is legit is really, in fact, just plain bullshit. Take for instance right now. On the air, someone is interviewing a father-son team, who wrote some book about “What waiters really think of you.” First of all, I don’t give a fuck about what waiters think of me. I’m not sure what else to say after that.
[in your best don lafontaine voice]
In a world long forgotten. In an age of darkness. . .
One man took a stand to stop a war that should have ended long ago.
Get ready for action. Prepare for excitement. And hold on for the ride of your life.
The Big Dogs of Cortelyou Road.
Starring John Goodman.
They had prepared a feast with unwrapped candy bars, sliced hot dogs, and mounds of some sort of pasta dish that looked like a cross between Kraft Mac N’ Cheese and cooked oatmeal. I wasn’t really that hungry but I didn’t want to offend my hosts by refusing the paper plate they had pushed in front of me with their noses. I quickly picked up one of the candy bars and put it in my mouth, chewing as fast as I could. It tasted like an old snickers bar, the chocolate a bit too crunchy and the bits of nougat and peanuts sticking to the roof my mouth as though they had been dipped in rubber cement.