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
the boy has gone home with his mother.
so the bastard got home last night an into bed around 1. such as life this time of year. so after 5 or six pages of 100 bullets, i turned in. around 2:30, i wake up from what felt like a dream and my knee felt out of wack so i bent my leg real quick only to hear a resounding pop and then after the initial shock, the pain kicked in. OW! it felt like something popped it the wrong way as if it had been sat on. i get out of bed to look for the knee brace and it's freezing in the apartment. so in the bastard's surreal half sleep/pained state, i start wondering why it's freezing in my apartment considerring how it's been in the 60's all day in new york (yeah, i don't get it either) and then it hit me. i might have ghosts. yeah it's probably the delirium but it was totally freezing just like one of those scenes from the sixth sense.
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.
