Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Toby and the Plant

Toby leaned against the kitchen counter and stabbed a fork at a cold bowl of pasta without really thinking. He wasn't using the table because he was perplexed by what was currently occupying it, a potted plant in a blue-green ceramic pot. Slightly dishevelled, some soil spilled onto the surface of the table, with broad, impossibly dark green leaves. He had stolen it the previous evening on his walk home from some drinks with Jeremy at the bar. Why he'd taken it he was unsure of. He hadn't been drunk enough to do something stupid, but still, this was stupid. Not like the time he got shitfaced at his friend John's house-warming and woke up naked and confused in the guest room. He was coherent last night, but couldn't explain to himself why he had stopped walking, looked up onto his neighbor's porch, and decided to take this plant from it. He didn't even really care much for plants. He had once bought at a yard sale a spider plant  he would make into his new pet project, but the cat had eaten in down to the dirt as soon as Toby had turned his back. So that was a wash, and he hadn't wanted to bring another living thing in just to be butchered by the cat and later thrown up on the rug.

He could smell the stink of the trash from across the kitchen as he gave up on the pasta and put the bowl in the sink. He pulled a dirty glass from the already unruly pile and ran some water. He might as well give some form of sustenance to this strange hostage he had somehow acquired.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

More Poetry From My Spam Box

I am so infatuated with you that I can't do anything else but care for you. I think it has turned into an obsession. I have forwarded you an eCard to let you know how I feel. take a peek at your note hopefully you love it. I spent a bunch of time making it!!

'insufferable,' said the prelatess,  Act like a Christian for once, and not like a laughing gal in a country school when the master's  back is  turned and just tell me whether there's any feet, or not, at the end of these legs of mine  Hetty announced that the breakfast was ready, and the whole party was soon seated around the simple board, in the usual primitive manner of borderers.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Aaaand Another

This just found my spambox:

Fucking awesome, right? I was just thinking to myself, "Man, my life is in shambles. I wish I knew someone who could help me out. Some kind of, I don't know... a Visionary Shaman of sorts; Someone with Visionary power to help me change my life."

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

I love you, internet. I hate you, internet.

Some while ago I posted an ad to Craigslist trying to sell a desk that I still have sitting around. The amount of spam I've received from this ad is astounding. In theory, CL is the best of what the internet could be, the free exchange of cash for goods and services. In practice, it's the realm of scammers and scumbags.

Here's the latest email I received:

So irritating.

Speaking of lame phishing scam-bots, here are some of my dozens and dozens of Twitter followers:

Yay Internet!

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Operation: Strawberry

Growing up as a boy in the 80's, slowly becoming aware of the wider world, I soon learned that threats lurked everywhere. A crazed loner could strike down the president all by himself; a strange, scary, incurable disease was spreading across the world. My grandmother told me it could be caught from toilet seats at the mall.

"Don't sit on the seat," she said to me. How was I supposed to empty my bowels at the Bradlee's then? Maybe that is why, even today, I can't poop anywhere but my own house.

Nuclear annihilation seemed a forgone conclusion. While we never had to engage in any "duck and cover" exercises in school, we still felt the presence of ICBMs. For all I knew, they were on their way already.

Perhaps one of the  scariest notions for me was Stranger Danger. The thought of being abducted by someone I didn't know, taken away from my parents and my toys, murdered and buried in the woods somewhere was terrifying. The danger was always presented to me as coming from someone who claimed to be there to help. The subterfuge was this: As I was walking home from school (I'm not sure if kids still do this), someone would pull up in a van (always a van), breathless and slightly panicked. There's been a terrible accident, the stranger would inform me, both of my parents were mangled in a horrific car crash, and with their last dying breaths they asked that this person, a good, trusted friend, whom I had never met, was sent to fetch me. My parents' last wishes were to see my face one last time. This stranger/friend was making sure that wish was fulfilled.

Needless to say, I made it out alive. Statistics prove that the majority of children who go missing, even for a short amount of time, are taken by relatives. Yes, the thought of some weirdo taking your child away, probably molesting them, then chopping them up into little pieces is terrifying and disturbing, but the fear-sowing... was that really necessary? Obviously, cases in which things like this happen lead in the news, following the "if it bleeds, it leads" mentality.

(In the 5 minutes of research I did for this piece, I've realized that my Google search history would probably be enough to convict me of something awful.)

Staying at home alone was a BIG DEAL for me when I was young. Short of a Bar Mitzvah, a spirit quest, or a circumcision, it was a hurdle toward my becoming a man. One Saturday afternoon, after much cajoling, my folks decided to let me stay at home while they took my brother with them to the mall. My instructions were very clear, and laid out to me repeatedly: Don't answer the door. Ever. If anyone calls and asks for either of my parents, I was to say that they were in the shower. Both of them, at the same time. Don't use the stove.

After locking the door, closing the blinds, and securing the perimeter, I walked around the lonely house, invigorated. So this is what it's like to be a man, I thought. I should do this more often.

At this time, things like televisions were essentially pieces of furniture. I still remember our first color TV, a behemoth Zenith, encased in wood and weighing what was probably several hundred pounds. We also had an all-in-one stereo system, also wood, which had a lid like the hood of a car, covering a record player, the tuner, and an eight-track player. It lived in the hallway. In my memory, it was eight feet long. It had cabinets that opened up to house LPs.

After convincing myself that the house was secure, I went to my room and lay down on my bed, my arms outstretched over my head, staring at the ceiling. I thought about what my new-found maturity, and all the rights and responsibilities that went along with it, when, out in the hallway, a calamitous racket. I sprang up and ran from my room to investigate. I lifted the hood of the stereo, and everything in it was turned on. The record player was spinning, the eight track playing, the tuner illuminated and only half-tuned between stations. It was on full blast. LOUD. What the heck? Haunted Stereo! I turned it off, and returned, shaking, to my bedroom. Ghosts in the Stereo. This wasn't fun anymore.

To counteract Stranger Danger, my brother and I were given codewords. Any friend/stranger sent to retrieve us after our parents were incinerated in an airplane crash would be apprised of our secret codes. When asked to come along with this odd person we were to ask "What's the secret code word?" If they didn't know the password, we were to run away!!!

NEVER tell your secret word to anyone, we were told. Recently I posted this query to some friends in an online forum:

Me: Growing up, did any of you get the "stranger danger" talk? My brother and I had code-words given to us. We were told to never go with any strangers unless they knew the secret word. Mine was "strawberry".

Alethea: You are NEVER supposed to share that password!!!!!!
I will not tell you mine.

Alex: We had that. I think the secret word was tornado. To this day I'll get into a car with anyone who says tornado.

Alethea: tornado.

: OK! Hey why are you tugging at my belt like that?

Lisa: we had a password too, and my first thought when you posted it here was, I can't BELIEVE you shared your password! i'll never tell what ours was.

Alethea: they are idiots.

: Me and strawberry tornado gonna have a good time tonight!

Alex: You just won't admit that you didn't have a password. And you didn't have a password because your parents were content to see you get kidnapped.

I love those guys.

Once I had some shop tools I wanted to get rid of, so I posted them for free on Craigslist. A girl showed up to take my glass saw. I met her at the door and invited her up to the apartment, which she did automatically. As soon as we were alone in my apartment, my Stranger Danger alarm went off and I thought "What the hell  is wrong with you?" I could have chopped her into pieces with the very glass saw she was there to take, had I been so inclined. (Oh delightful irony) Obviously she never had a secret word. Or perhaps her common sense had taken leave of her. I just remember feeling incredibly uncomfortable. From then on, any Craigslist transactions took place on the front stoop, in full view of the neighbors. 

A few years ago I was at a bar with some friends and I met a guy named George who told stories about when he was kidnapped.  His father and mother had had a nasty split once George was born, and his dad had absconded with him into the wilderness; his earliest memories were of his dad siphoning gas from cars in Mexico as they made their way. I remember being jealous of this origin story. I wish I had a story even nearly as interesting to tell about my beginning days. George seemed as if he'd made it out OK. I wonder if he had a secret word?

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Original Hipster

This is me in second grade. I was irritating and pretentious way before it became mainstream.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Also, I Am Eating A Sandwich

A place for what I consider to be some of my gems from Twitter and Facebook status updates. In no particular order:

I ♥ nihilism!

I bought a pan in Reno, just to watch him fry.

When pigs fly, swine flu.

1337 haiku: a/s/l? omg! gtfo! lmao

Mark Sandman is dead yet all 4 founding members of Motley Crue continue to draw breath on this earth.

Ceiling Cat has called in sick today, so, like, go crazy and stuff.

Take the "How Sexy Are You?" Quiz! My score: 147% Sexy.

I'm the most spectacular failure since the introduction of the McEwok...

I dont think I will ever grow tired of hearing very young children swearing.

Hair cuts come and go. A waffle iron is forever.

Cold Hard Facts: Not Good. Throbbing Hard Facts: Even Worse.

Machoccino: the drink for men.

"I swear on my baby-mama's grave, those are not my drugs." #heardonCops

Did they test viagra on lab animals? The thought of a rat with a boner makes me sad.

Masturbating in a snuggie is some varsity-level shit. #snuggie

Are those space pants? Because I'm a premature ejaculator #candyheartrejects

March is National Women's History Month, and I'd like to let all the lovely women in my life know that I appreciate you broads.

EPIC HOMO #knuckletats

"That's not hot glue..." #sexyartsandcrafts

It seems wasteful to buy a burrito just to stick my dick in it. #lonely

Mom's got more friends than me on FB. #notigerbloodhereIguess

Did I Invent the word "cliteratti"? God I hope so.

This is not the cheerleader pile I paid for #trappedunderalog

You kiss your mom with that vagina?

Tonight me and my Asian-American gang The Guidos are playing our weekly game of Find The Bottle Of Pee.

Today is National Put Your Balls On Things Day #putyourballsonthingsday

Life's been pretty great since I gave up hope.

Can anybody tell me, what's the past-tense of badonk-a-donk?

"Boy, is my face red." - Johnny The Beet-faced Boy

I'm doing really great in my Spanish class! I made the Honor Raoul!

These avacado boots are made for guacin'.

This lululemon bag really comes off as smug and bossy. You're not in charge, bag.

Being a guy is great. At this point, "dressing up" means not having barbeque sauce on my shirt.

I didn't get many trick-or-treaters last night, so I'm going to go for a drive in the van and give out the rest of my candy that way.

When you're a juggalo, every day is Halloween. And your candy is meth.

I don't know about you, but I can't wait to see the Das Boot reboot.

Please refer to me by my outdoorsy rapper name: LL Bean J.

If this whole "working" thing doesn't pan out, I can always fall back on my first career writing lesbian erotica.

I'm going to start a dating website for dummies called OKStupid.

Anybody feel like wanging-chung tonight?

Salad dressing shall henceforth be referred to as Veggie Lube.

The best thing that happened to me today was hearing Werner Herzog say the word."woozy".

Little known historical fact: Benjamin Franklin accidentally invented the pot-belly stove while trying to make the world's first sex doll.

Cats don't like wasabi. I learned something today.

A diamond is forever. And so is herpes.

Careful out there, peeps. This snow is heavy and wet. Just like yo mamma.

April is Child Abuse Prevention month. I'd like to let you all know that I was a battered child. I was never deep-fried, but the threat was always there.

I put the stink in distinction.

I wonder why nobody has responded to my Puppy Awards Party Evite?

Times are tough. So to make some extra money I've decided I'm going to pawn my air guitar. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I didn't realize how much practice goes into it.