a hard day's weel

A lot of things have happened in the long week. Cheri had a good bye party, with pizza, & in typical form, ridiculed the clients.

Then my amp busted. Not completely: some of the surround settings have been popping in & out. Then we ordered one from Radio Shaft, a cheap one that doesn't have a B speaker switch. He thought I was talking about 7.1, I meant something I could connect my old stereo speakers to: Rectilinear XIIs from the 70s, which over the years have had every driver in them swapped out.

Then, the harassing phone calls began. I reported it to the copz; turned out to be some offshore scam, trying to keep you on the phone as long as possible. Copz suggested screening our calls.

& now I am Ruthie-less: didn't pick it up as the woman never said her name. Wrote her a little letter to give her my email address. If she does answer, I will turn her in the direction of this blog, & my homepage, & see if she wants me still.

I mean, like Kimothy wants me too much: the last time she came over, her first signed word was "sex". She kept playing with her zipper... but a real atomic blowjob from my wife can really put her to shame.

Then Brawny & Ryan didn't show up for Halloween, but Ed & Denise did, so we split a pizza 4-ways,

Ended up switching our phone number: it's now CPL-5938.

Writing on Pluto's improving. Some research to be done on the Internet, a couple more rewrites, & then it'll go to Stan.

Will stop writing SF for a bit to complete Mind-Warp.

Clearly? Leery? O'really?

Tales of doubt, vectors of Fury: Bongos!

--That's the way to be! Little Joe said, never once give it away.

So Kim stopped bi Saturday, seeming to want to resurrect me with her mouth.

I let her in for a few minutes. Nealy lost my quasi-immaterial soul; I take it that she'd been the one who knocked on the door when Ed came over with the sugar-free cookies.

Wasted a lot of time playing around with Tagged.com. Another of those myspace clones.

Trish came home around 3:30/4:00, wanted to go to the store, bought some juice & pop: Diet Mr. Fruity -- I'm sure Mr. Fruity has spread many lies, a lot like your various Vadisystems.

Got to use a lot of our money to buy a 5.1 receiver. The surround shorted out; we now have stereo only.

The Mighty Insect Slayer wanted to go to Church. Someone behind us made a comment, which I believe was intended for my wife: "She's retarded, & has the mind of a 2nd grader."

This almost created savage vorkling Fury: leader of a gay motorcycle gang.

We watched TV on our dying home theater, then I slept pretty much restfully; demons of the night, depart from me, & leave at the door.

I'm going to be painting Szabo's organ. He's sending it gutless, for me to do with it as I please May affix old electronics parts to it; paint the keys various complementary colors & harmonies.

Should be real atomic. Like a bong. Personally, I prefer waterpipes to joints.

return of the Invisible Gay Bra

The flirtation. The mild jesting. Matches in the pocket.

& then the Gay Bra was abandoned, in the face of the porno-vid: Control.

Eventual relief, in spite of the Viagra.

Got to search for something new.

Something to smoke, rather than regular cigars.

& so it goes. (Curt & Vonnegutsy.)

Week of Wonder

....even though my part in Blowfly's Rapp has been thoroughly disproved, Ali still has me tuned into the Drugster Truckdrivin' Man. (He's the head of the Ku Klux Klan.) He's been like a father to me, & he came to visit me in W-3: he's also like the only DJ you can hear after 3:00. Joan Baez.

What I've got going here is a scheme to get rich fast:

1) Send the Greatest of All Time my copy of A Sufi Saint of the 20th Century, or if I lost it something equivalent,

2) Write the lyrics of Pharaoh Sanders song Hum-Allah on the inside:

Prince of Peace
Won't you hear our pleas
Ring your bells of peace
Let loving never cease

Then write:

Don't heed false jihad. Islam is all about peace & love.

3) Find my letter from him: "To my brother W.C.: Service to others is the rent we pay for a room in the hereafter".

4) Sell the note on eBay for a million buckadingdongs.

& to you assholes in the Bureau of Homeland Security reading this because it has the word "Islam" in it, you can all go take a fucking walk.

Mr. 420 rises from the dead...

...& the sky wept blood; sweat & tears expressed on the part of the Machine...

OK, the last time I tried to use Blogger, I got a message about "switching to the new blogger." Mostly, it just meant reading, entering my info, more reading, more entering, &c, &c.

Much of Sunday, we spent at home, watching a lot of old music DVDs while Trish did a lot of chores. Meanwhile, in the medicine chest, I only had enough Abilify to last Saturday morning, so it'll have been 2 brecchies now, without it.

& if some crazy Scientologist argues with that, Fuck Scientology!

Since I have to see Joe today anyway, so I'll ask him what is happening without it. & give him Dylanesque...

After watching some really Ferry stuff the other day, I decided to simply give Joe, a really big Dylan fan, the original & reorder it.

I did sleep OK last night, save for wide awake time between 4:2o & 5:00. I then conked out until the phone went off. I dialed *69, & got some kind of long distance call: very long number, possibly Joey.

I retire now from my acid day dreams. Tomorrow, I return to Dawn. I want to be ready.

Invisible Banks & the 2-signature policy, + dishwasher problems (today)

So yesterday, following Trish's return from the Invisible Pizza Hut (her days seem to be improving), we walked over to the Iron Claw Credit Union, feet hurting in my hips (now that's a first, probably arthritis), only to find that they no longer have 2-signature accounts. We went ahead & signed the damn papers, but on the way out, told Trish we should choose a different bank. Then she became cranky, even as we ate at El Taco Loco. Generic chicken quesadilla, Spanish rice: we both had the same, + water (see how good the water tastes when it's mixed with Kool-Aid powder). Some type of Mr. Fruity or macho Indian, mostly just because of my "staring", even though I'd deliberately sat by the bathrooms, insisted on commenting on me being "sick".

I ignored him. Trish did some chores, we went over to Albertson's to pick up some air-fresheners, only to find we had refills, not PlugIns.

Listened to the College Station awhile, but then mis-dialed their request line, so I got some horny young woman who wanted a date. Did the same thing another time, she said, "You dialed the wrong number agan." Love will tear us apart, again & again & again, sort of how career-girl covers also do.

Slept in this morning, after waking up 2 times in the middle of the night. Trish fixed generic oatmeal, all by herself.

Coffee, a generic transition point between brecchie & lunch. We ate some canned sketti & meatballs, started a load of dishes. Almost as soon as Trish left, I fell asleep, woke up with the cycle not yet completed. I immediately moved it a bit; finally quit before I checked my email & did my usual slaying of spam.

The song is over.

Prowler & doctor, in that order (TV dinner for lunch)

Someone tried to break thru the door yesterday, while I bathed. Since I needed to see Dr.s No-land & Marino, I decided to take a bath once Trish left for work. Instead I fell asleep in the comfy chair, unti Denise called.

She wanted to know if I wanted some diabetic cookies; could I leave the door ajar so he could put them in the porch?

I said yes, got into the bathtub, & heard something from the porch. The inside door we keep locked all the time, to prevent this sort of thing from happening.

Then about 10 minutes after Ed arrived, bearing cookies.

Eventually, after a tamale & rice TV dinner, I called the copz. Guy kept looking at my recently begun painting of the Bumble Bee Girl, but also noted that nothing really had disappeared, not even our brand new vacuum cleaner. (Unleaded.) He decided that the attempted robbery was most likely to have been done to steal the stereo, the computer, all that stuff.

Then he hopped into his batmobile & was gone.

I had difficulties staying awake, up until... taxi grab! No trip along Dawn's Highway, instead we went down the other main highway.

No-man wasn't terribly concerned, though the student nurse practitioner, very pretty, seemed rather bouncy. She had slithy toves, don't they all have that at their age? Mostly, he did set up the sleep apnea test, then trued to tell me not to use the computer for a week -- these stotres I generate, they are my children. Even if the world's an abortion, they should not be. Dawn must be completed, then Insanity Can Be Fun, followed by Noc-Lar & Arn.