...on the bass

now as the bouncer will tell you, as an establishment starts to fail businesswise, they'll let any dumb neanderthal into the place. now the bouncer is, yes, a bouncer and his expertise lies in the club scene. the bastard finds that his logic is sound in most any business arena. take the restaurant for instance. now the bastard hasn't reported on the restaurant's karaoke activities since getting back into the apartment for one reason and one reason only. i can't be bothered. i resigned myself to not getting bothered by the little things anymore. i decided not to get bothered by thing one or thing two either. i want to have inner peace in my life, and it starts with me. so there. sorry, i'll find better material for the faithful.
buuuuuuut, sometimes something breaks up my peace. like when i'm tired and when a bunch of neanderthals get out of a really loud car to check out the menu of the restaurants and the while they decide how they are going to pronouce words like richotta and calamari, their driver parks his car under my window. and the bastard is tired from doing the devil's work last night for the artist. but there he is, thumping bass, windows rolled down and standing outside his car, posing. i used to go to the bouncer's site to remind myself of the kind of idiots i went to high school with but now i get a front row seat. hey can you turn that up? i don't think they can hear you in jersey. rhythm is a dancer indeed...you prick.

—the bastard