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Location: The Promised Land

This is my triumphant return to the lifestyle I've always furthered and forwarded in my heart, at least, so let's blast off. The first half of my life has been incredible and the second segment will include more splendors than any Ottoman Sultan could ever have wished for in his golden repose. Anyway, fasten your laughter belt cuz you're on a collision course with wackiness.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Stiff Working

Seems that I'm no longer young nor have my health so a job is just what I needed. Just one day on the books (snicker) and I feel the satisfaction that the "working man" feels and it's my own brand of Miller Time and probably more satisfyin' but I neither compare nor despair but, rather, repair. Atta boy, Clarence. Dingaling. Check me out, I'm givin' out wings but without the zesty sarcasm. Jimmy Stewart's poetry is so bad... it almost makes you wonder if he was just lucky to get those parts in those great movies but I prefer to remember him volunteering to fly missions over Germany in WWII when he could've sat it out, a la Sinatra. I know, I'm a dead man now.
Das Boot has become an acceptable torment and I often nearly smash something with it out of reflex but I'm still my own man, whatever that means. Ladies, let me be your man. Doesn't it go something like that? Nevermind, but I get more exposure out of just muttering "Fester, bester, tester" than I do with my cancer cure which the big oil companies don't want released, for some reason, so I peddle my papers elsewhere which I always accept as a great journey. At least that's the way I grasp things at the moment so I'll probably load up my mattress with hardtack and if anyone can explain the significance of that I'll cough up a dollar but I won't eat a bug, no matter how it's served. In Hollywood, they serve insects. And waiters are constantly heard to apologize for them. It's truly a spectacle but if it's just one case then why isn't it a monocle? Good Christ, I've gone George Carlin and resorted to philosophical "bit" humor. My mom took me to the fabulous Fox Theater to see GC when I was fourteen. I knew he'd be funny but I wasn't prepared for the bombardment of energy that came from the enormous live audience from which he fed and my face hurt from almost two hours of staying in the same stretched chortle contortion. Truly it was one case of the show surpassing the billing. I look back reading this and see Good Christ right in front of George Carlin. GC, in this entry, is George Carlin. We didn't see Good Christ or the total enormity of it hasn't hit me yet. Damn, I hate non-clarity. Also, really there are very few bugs in L.A. You know, comparatively speaking.

Now it's traffic school
Gain or loss of faculties
Psychotic symptoms

Anyway, if the thunder don't get you then the lightning will, as they say, so I just make it a point to groove, always. Take a trip, yes, but cop out, never, says I. The growling prowling of the helicopters only enhances the experience.


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