There's Lauren's Curl Up and Dye, mentioned yesterday. That's it. Busy with real life fun and unfun and fake life's other projects fun and fun and may be with both for a few days if I'm lucky and unlucky. Updates on yesterday: same there, and now I'm taking that offline at my own request, but life stirred in Blegsylvania! It wasn't me, it was serendipity. Look at the blegrells! Look at links then song then James Tate poem I've certainly posted before then song.
- The state as autoimmune system.
- The cult of American revolution.
- Marx and the devil.
- Angel of death.
- Emperor of Underpants.
- Motherfucking asshats and assclowns abound.
- Motherfucking NYPD.
- Of course he did.
- Making the world safer for weasels.
- Hey, remember when that cracker shot up all those Sikhs?
- See no evil.
- Going places.
- Maryland adopts poor tax.
- Houses in our neighborhood are selling within a week of going on the market except for our next-door neighbor's. They are asking for $600K for a three bedroom rambler they paid $350 for five years ago, say it doesn't help Napoleon is in our front yard during Sunday open houses. Dumbfuckers.
- Randolph Road and Nebel Street is ROCKVILLE, not North Motherfucking Bethesda.
- The latest word.
- Shouldn't the sonnet?
- Robert Creeley as the ruined American male?
- On Gordon Lish, who apparently I should read.
- RIP Charles Bell.
- Obscure Sound's Best of July w/sound.
- The best Fleetwood Mac cover ever.
DIAMOND TERRIFIER || Shrine Flu from grossymmetric on Vimeo.
A CLEAN HIT
A bomb had exploded down the street. I got dressed and
walked down to see what happened. The Whalen's house had
been flattened. But Hal and Rebecca were standing in the street,
apparently unscathed. Everyone in the neighborhood was pouring
our of their houses and into the streets. "What the hell happened?"
I said to Hal. "We were in the garden, thank god, when this
plane flew over. The next thing I know, the house explodes to
smithereens," he said. "It must have been some kind of accident,"
I said. "Well, I voted for this president. They shouldn't be
targeting me," he said. "Friendly fire," I said. "What the hell's
that?" he said. "They mistook you for somebody else," I said.
"Well, they shouldn't be bombing in this neighborhood, I don't
care who they thought I was. Children and old people live here,
and dogs," he said. "I'm sure you'll be getting a letter of apology,
and maybe a new house," I said. "It's lucky I didn't have a heart
attack," Rebecca Whalen said. Joe Mizelle walked up. "That
sure was a clean hit. No collateral damage whatsoever," he said.
"How do you know they didn't mean to hit your house and just
accidentally hit mine?" Hal said. "Jesus, I hadn't thought of
that. But I haven't done anything wrong. I voted for him, even
though I think he's a shifty bastard," Joe said. "Everything we
had is gone," Rebecca said, whimpering into her tissue. "When it
cools down, we can sift through the wreckage," Hal said, comforting
her. "I'd be glad to lend a hand," I said. "Maybe your silverware
survived, if it didn't melt in the heat," Joe said. Other neighbors
had gathered around and were whispering amongst themselves. "This
is the price we pay for our protection." "Thank god we live in a
democracy." "I'm sure they know what they were doing." "I'm going
to write my congressman." Hal turned to me and said, "Maybe I
am guilty. Maybe I did do something to deserve this. It's hard to
remember, on a day-to-day basis, everything you've said and every
little thing you've done. I can be kind of a free spirit sometimes.
I probably brought this on myself. And someone filed a report on
me. Oh god, I don't want to think about it, it's awful." "Listen,
Hal, I still think it was a mistake. It happens all the time.
Those reports pass through so many hands, by the time they reach
the top somebody has gotten the wrong address," I said. "All the
photographs and all the precious mementos of the children that can
never be replaced," Rebecca sobbed. "One of your boys works for the
government, doesn't he?" Joe said. "He's just a clerk in Washington,"
Hal said. "Still, I wouldn't rule him out," Joe said. "You're
beginning to irritate me," Hal said. The neighbors were drifting back
to their homes, their curiosities satisfied. Joe, too, turned
and left, but not before adding, "I was just trying to interject a
little humor. Sorry, no offense intended." Hal failed to dignify
this with a reply. The three of us stood there staring at the smouldering
rubble in silence. "Well, you're welcome to stay at my place," I
said finally. Hal looked at me as if to measure my trust. Then he
said, "This wasn't our real home. We have a secret home where we
keep our valuables. Nobody knows its whereabouts, not even our
children. There was nothing in there but junk. I figured they'd come
sooner or later. And they didn't get the car, so we'll be fine.
Rebecca, here, just had to put on a little show for the neighbors.
You can't trust most of them, if you know what I mean." We shook
hands and embraced. Then they got in their car and were gone forever.
I memorized their license plate number - 357 O19 - for good luck.
They are asking for $600K for a three bedroom rambler they paid $350 for five years ago, say it doesn't help Napoleon is in our front yard during Sunday open houses.ReplyDelete
Good grief. Let's hope they're gone soon.
Whenever Nap goes missing like he did last week I wonder if the bastard or the bastards' three sons did something to him.ReplyDelete
Wanna know something worse - the husband and wife are named, I shit you not, Matt and Kim, so every time I see them that fucking band starts playing in my head.
A casino at National Harbor is a poor tax? I don't think so.ReplyDelete
Not only is Randolph and Nebel as Rockville as Rockville gets, the entire story falls on its face because, as everyone knows, there are no crazy homeless people in any part of Bethesda.ReplyDelete
Also: what Sasha said, plus, you have the balls to bitch, ever, about "pwoggies" and then call a casino a poor tax? Holy fuckamok, them's some intellectual clangers, there, hoss. But that aside, don't forget to buy you some Powerball for tonite.
"Poor tax" more fun to write than "casino." I was indoctrinated to see state-run gambling as a poor tax but I'm agnostic - if people are going to dump their money on a number one way or the other, I can see the logic of having them dump it into Maryland's coffers rather than Delaware's or West Virginia's.ReplyDelete
That there Randolph B&O crossing (yes I know, but I still say 70S) is suicide central in ROCKVILLE.
Um,private casino is in no way like a state run numbers game. Maybe you should gamble more.ReplyDelete
I bet three pounds on Fulham to win last year's Premiership. How'd that work out for me?ReplyDelete
The best Fleetwood Mac cover ever.ReplyDelete
Better than Camper Van Beethoven releasing a stoned, weird cover of the entire Tusk album? I think not.
Emo Phillips always said that the lottery is a tax on the innumerate.ReplyDelete
I never CVPed much. I hated their cover of Matchstick Men, especially compared to Slickee's cover! http://youtu.be/6cF6lruPMhQ So good.ReplyDelete