Awaking from a restful eleven and a half hours of sleep on a Saturday morning, I was grief stricten to realize that I had slept through a Friday night of rampant popularity, the likes of which have previously been unseen in quite sometime.
Invitations to sportsbars and pizza pig outs aside, it was time to begin my day. Starting with a excavation of my work pants in search of Burger King coupons and assorted loose change.
By noon a flurry of text message exchanges set in place plans for a trip to meet and greet with rising rap phenom J.Cole. The supposed next big thing, a lightskinned gangly protege of current hip hop mega star Jay-Z. My main focus was retrieving a photograph with the young star. Bait for luring co-workers by my desk at work, flaunting various impressive photographs with celebrities. An illusion that would lead cubicle dwelling types with the impression that outside of the office I actually lead quite the exciting life. J.Cole would be the center piece of this collection.
Sadly, mother nature and fate would have other plans on this day. By mid afternoon our scavenger hunt of hotels and tour buses was cut premature. The only option now was to seek shelter beneath an awning outside of the venue where a small crowd of J.Cole devotees had arrived FOUR HOURS IN ADVANCE!
Things were beginning to look grim on our part, the gaggle of scrawny pre-pubescent twelve year old girls were never going to allow us close enough access for autographs and photos upon the stars arrival.
As the rain cleared and the sun shined it dawned upon me that todays generation of kids are not only better looking then the previous one (mine or close to it) they are also much cleaner. Their hair is groomed immaculantly, their sneakers are spotless and their clothes although cheap looking are quite expensive. They are excessorized to a T even in a economy where their parental overlords are possibly struggling to find work or making ends meet on meger wages. The possibility of dripping a sweat appears to have never been a threat to these kids and if it had I imagine it would have been such a life shattering revolation that their worlds would have unraveled, leaving them huddled in a corner somewhere in the fetile position deep throating their baby smooth thumbs.
From out of this glob of hair gel and freshly unboxed Air Jordan sneakers arose a scuzzy ball of battered flesh so ghastly, so threatening to the mainstream way of life, likely the only way of life these kids knew, that he immediatly caught my attention.
This hideous creature, stinking of trash and carrying around a makeshift pole fitted with a hook on the tip, approached me with a friendly grin full of tooth decay and gingivitis. We exchanged pleasantries and small talk over the weather before delving into more serious subject matter such as the JFK assassination and our shared hatred for George W. Bush. Or, the "bitch boy" as my new found friend would repeatedly refer to him.
"The names Paco!"
Paco would go on to share with me tales of adventure that he experienced as a prisoner for twenty-eight years in the OHIO prison system. Claiming that after an altercation with the warden at one prison he was sent to "the hole" for a year and a half where he feasted upon generous helpings of Jack Daniels. The hole as he described it was roughly five-by-five, dark, filthy and if you didn't catch your meals before they were slopped on the floor then you were pretty much fucked.
His crime was double-attempted-homicide.
Before prison Paco did several years in Vietnam where he lost a brother and uncle who also served in his unit. He himself left Vietnam after taking no less then six bullets in various parts of his body. His SSDI payments were apparently brought to a screeching hault a few years ago thanks to budget cuts by then President George W Bush.
At 3 am every morning Paco can be found trolling the treacherous alley ways and dumpsters behind downtown bars where he collects aluminum cans.
"This is my job, man. One night some dude left a pack of sixteen Miller Genuine Drafts on a table, I didn't hesitate to crank those fuckers down!"
By Pacos own estimates he is one of roughly 30,000 homeless citizens who have made the sunwashed streets of St. Petersburg home.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Fear Of A Islamic Planet!
9-11-2001
I'll never forget the moment it happend.
Sitting in the back corner of my senior year economics class goofing around with my buddy Nick. Our teacher, an unappologetic capitalist with a thinning comb over hair cut and a face that looked uncomfortably like a cheap Hitler Halloween mask (Thus, why he was referred to as Rubber Face. A nickname I still claim to have originated, although the origins have and will continue to be debated), was yammering on as usual about remote Florida locales along treacherous stretch's of highway where he planned to invest and sell for a profit to developers.
Without warning a class mate, her name escapes me, barges in through the doorway tardy by about fifteen minutes with claims that a plane has just struck the World Trade Center in New York City. Rubber Face immediatly rushed to his computer, no doubt to check on his stocks. A girl sitting next to myself and Nick, a ditzy blonde with the IQ of a used condom said, "was it intentional?".
We looked at one another in disbelief that any person this stupid could have survived on this planet for as long as she had. Ofcourse it wasn't intentional, who would fly a plane purposely into a giant building?
Amazingly, I managed to sit through one more class without even the slightest of mention of what was happening in New York City with exception to murmers in the hallways. So, I didn't think to much about it and why would I have? I was a naive seventeen (a week before my eighteenth birthday) year old slacker with bad skin and a part time job at a grocery store, my main concern was graduating with a C average so my dad wouldn't kick my ass. Life continued as normal, although I was conscious that a major news story was developing.
In those days I would leave school around 11:30 - Noon each day because of the OJT Program. As I walked home I could sense that something had changed, cars were driving slower, the few that were actually on the roads and the city itself seemed have lost it's pulse.
When I finally found myself infront of a television screen I vividly remember Tom Brokaw on NBC and the horrific visions of a mass murder being broadcasted in real time for the whole planet to witness. Words were flying across the bottom of the screen with quotes and facts as cameras showed helpless souls launching themselves from the windows of a flaming skyscraper. The streets of lower Manhattan covered in clouds of dust and people in tears fearing for the safety of their loved ones. It was a miserable sight to behold and yet I couldn't look away, it was the greatest car crash in the history of the world and instead of casually strolling by with a curious eye we all stopped dead in our tracks and stared.
My attention sooned turned to the radio where I recall hearing that retarded "Proud To Be An American" song and blowhards demanding immediate carpet bombing of every city in the middle east.
In a instant the world had changed forever.
It's kind of crazy, even now as I write this my eyes tend to water a bit. The real tragedy of 9/11 isn't the dismantling of The World Trade Center, it's the monsters we have all become in the years to follow. Bitter partisianship, exploitation and a willingness to sacrifice the lives of others for the comfort of our own safety without ever blinking an eye.
I'll never forget the moment it happend.
Sitting in the back corner of my senior year economics class goofing around with my buddy Nick. Our teacher, an unappologetic capitalist with a thinning comb over hair cut and a face that looked uncomfortably like a cheap Hitler Halloween mask (Thus, why he was referred to as Rubber Face. A nickname I still claim to have originated, although the origins have and will continue to be debated), was yammering on as usual about remote Florida locales along treacherous stretch's of highway where he planned to invest and sell for a profit to developers.
Without warning a class mate, her name escapes me, barges in through the doorway tardy by about fifteen minutes with claims that a plane has just struck the World Trade Center in New York City. Rubber Face immediatly rushed to his computer, no doubt to check on his stocks. A girl sitting next to myself and Nick, a ditzy blonde with the IQ of a used condom said, "was it intentional?".
We looked at one another in disbelief that any person this stupid could have survived on this planet for as long as she had. Ofcourse it wasn't intentional, who would fly a plane purposely into a giant building?
Amazingly, I managed to sit through one more class without even the slightest of mention of what was happening in New York City with exception to murmers in the hallways. So, I didn't think to much about it and why would I have? I was a naive seventeen (a week before my eighteenth birthday) year old slacker with bad skin and a part time job at a grocery store, my main concern was graduating with a C average so my dad wouldn't kick my ass. Life continued as normal, although I was conscious that a major news story was developing.
In those days I would leave school around 11:30 - Noon each day because of the OJT Program. As I walked home I could sense that something had changed, cars were driving slower, the few that were actually on the roads and the city itself seemed have lost it's pulse.
When I finally found myself infront of a television screen I vividly remember Tom Brokaw on NBC and the horrific visions of a mass murder being broadcasted in real time for the whole planet to witness. Words were flying across the bottom of the screen with quotes and facts as cameras showed helpless souls launching themselves from the windows of a flaming skyscraper. The streets of lower Manhattan covered in clouds of dust and people in tears fearing for the safety of their loved ones. It was a miserable sight to behold and yet I couldn't look away, it was the greatest car crash in the history of the world and instead of casually strolling by with a curious eye we all stopped dead in our tracks and stared.
My attention sooned turned to the radio where I recall hearing that retarded "Proud To Be An American" song and blowhards demanding immediate carpet bombing of every city in the middle east.
In a instant the world had changed forever.
It's kind of crazy, even now as I write this my eyes tend to water a bit. The real tragedy of 9/11 isn't the dismantling of The World Trade Center, it's the monsters we have all become in the years to follow. Bitter partisianship, exploitation and a willingness to sacrifice the lives of others for the comfort of our own safety without ever blinking an eye.
The Internet Ruined The Sex Culture!
A few evenings ago as I sat around lurched over infront of my laptop, drooling to the site of a woman drilling herself into the shaft of a bedpost, it occured to me that the internet has completely ruined the sex culture in this country.
Back in the day lonely women desperate for love had no choice but to get out of the house and make themselves available, going to bars, etc. They were easy picking for the scoundrals of the time. Even those without agendas still had to get out of the house and therefore allow nature to take it's course if they ever planned to procreate with the opposite sex. Therefore a healthy and vital ecosystem existed on this planet for centuries, that is before the invention of the internet.
In the modern age it is almost taboo to meet somebody in a social setting. The fun of face to face interaction, learning somebodies behavior first hand and enjoying the simplistic mysteries of a first date seem to have gone the way of the dodo bird. These days our attractions are rooted in the salesman ship and self fetishizing of social networking and text messages.
Don't get me wrong, I've dabbled in the online dating scene here and there. It's a easy means of getting laid but the problem is that people with self esteem issues get a hold of a digital camera, some good lighting and allow their newfound celebrity status amongst the gaggles of their perverted fanbase to go to their head.
A chick that used to be a casual homebody, the type of woman that would be a good catch in a not so distant primitive past is now a devient with an addiction to jilling off over the phone and infront of web videos for strangers. A chick may boast of having had only a few sexual partners, but ask her how many dudes she has sent photos of her baby portal to and see if the layers of that wholesome church lady image doesn't shed away like the peels of an orange.
Capitalism is a strange beast, a system that thrives upon providing it's participants with options is not necassarily a bad thing, unless it is being utilized by a lonely species that since it's earliest beginnings of crawling out of the mud as a walking tadpole has been in search of communication with others of its own kind. The combination has resulted in the greatest technological arms race in the history of the world and amongst its best achievements is the ability for a man in Omaha, Nebraska to send a photo of his manhood to a woman in Tallahasee, Florida in a matter of seconds.
What I am getting at is that being a human being no longer seems good enough. Although still flesh and blood our lifestyles are becoming more and more roboticized and safe. The pay off of a sexual encounter much like everything else that was ever worth accomplishing is the adventure that takes place along the way. Looking for perfection on a website with a glossy profile is not human and worst of all it's boring.
Just saying...
Back in the day lonely women desperate for love had no choice but to get out of the house and make themselves available, going to bars, etc. They were easy picking for the scoundrals of the time. Even those without agendas still had to get out of the house and therefore allow nature to take it's course if they ever planned to procreate with the opposite sex. Therefore a healthy and vital ecosystem existed on this planet for centuries, that is before the invention of the internet.
In the modern age it is almost taboo to meet somebody in a social setting. The fun of face to face interaction, learning somebodies behavior first hand and enjoying the simplistic mysteries of a first date seem to have gone the way of the dodo bird. These days our attractions are rooted in the salesman ship and self fetishizing of social networking and text messages.
Don't get me wrong, I've dabbled in the online dating scene here and there. It's a easy means of getting laid but the problem is that people with self esteem issues get a hold of a digital camera, some good lighting and allow their newfound celebrity status amongst the gaggles of their perverted fanbase to go to their head.
A chick that used to be a casual homebody, the type of woman that would be a good catch in a not so distant primitive past is now a devient with an addiction to jilling off over the phone and infront of web videos for strangers. A chick may boast of having had only a few sexual partners, but ask her how many dudes she has sent photos of her baby portal to and see if the layers of that wholesome church lady image doesn't shed away like the peels of an orange.
Capitalism is a strange beast, a system that thrives upon providing it's participants with options is not necassarily a bad thing, unless it is being utilized by a lonely species that since it's earliest beginnings of crawling out of the mud as a walking tadpole has been in search of communication with others of its own kind. The combination has resulted in the greatest technological arms race in the history of the world and amongst its best achievements is the ability for a man in Omaha, Nebraska to send a photo of his manhood to a woman in Tallahasee, Florida in a matter of seconds.
What I am getting at is that being a human being no longer seems good enough. Although still flesh and blood our lifestyles are becoming more and more roboticized and safe. The pay off of a sexual encounter much like everything else that was ever worth accomplishing is the adventure that takes place along the way. Looking for perfection on a website with a glossy profile is not human and worst of all it's boring.
Just saying...
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