“Do you need any extra soy sauce with that?”
“No, but chopsticks would be great.”
“Okay…chopsticks…there you go, and your total is $10.52.  Would you like to donate a dollar to Children’s Hospital?
“Fuck no.”
[all the staff behind the counter as well as all customers within earshot turn to glower with alarmed disapproval]
“…”
“Seriously, no. Absolutely not.  If I’d wanted to donate to some goddamn kid’s charity, I would have gone there instead of here, and I would have said, ‘I want to donate to your charity,’ instead of, ‘Can I please have the orange chicken and honey walnut shrimp.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is it?  Is it okay?  Damn right it’s okay.  Why don’t you donate that extra $1.25 you just charged me for the honey walnut shrimp?”
“It’s okay, sir.”
“Quit saying that!  I know it’s fucking okay!  Next time I’m going to Chipotle.  I don’t have to deal with broke hospital kids at Chipotle.  Upset my goddamn digestion.”

N.P.: “Strangers” – Then Comes Silence

Just nothing but bullshit today, dear reader.  Unbelievable amounts of unnecessary bullshit.  I’m going to be brief tonight because I’m a mushroom-cloud-layin’ motherfucker right now, and that’s not going to do anyone any good unless that anyone is either one of my books.

I was introduced today to a new German term that has felt very comfortable since I’ve heard it: einzelgänger.  Like a glove, mein lieber Leser.  If I ever live in Germany or joined Rammstein,  I would change my name to Klaus Von Einzelgänger.  Because it would be bad ass.

N.P.: “Dumhetens Gudinna” – Tid

A police chase (in fairness, it was pretty half-assed) and a car crash (also a tad half-assed…still counts) before 0630.  It was alarmingly normal…no panic, no adrenaline, no elevated respiratory rate…just another day in an all-too-slow world that moves far too timidly and cautiously for my tastes.  Seriously, I know many who feel as if the world is racing around them, and they talk about a hectic or even frantic pace…I feel as if the whole mess is moving in slow motion.

None of this early morning chaos disrupted the writing schedule, of course, dear reader, and I was able to turn out rather a lot of pages on the slasher novel.  Hopefully I can get a few pages in on the Real Book (the one I was supposed to have wrapped up over a month ago) before the nightly collapse happens.

N.P.: “Summer Breeze/Set Me On Fire” – Type O Negative

The morons at Woodstock™ simply refuse to stop dry-humping their hippy vision of The Future, or at least of August.  After the entire state of New York told them to Eat All The DIcks, they apparently found someone’s yard in Maryland to hold this stupid thing.  About 10 minutes after they announced the move, Jay Z dropped out, as did several other groups.  Then about 10 minutes after that, Woodstock™ released all previously signed acts from their previously signed contracts.  Then about 24 hours after that, Woodstock™ announced that (stop me if this sounds hauntingly familiar), “It’s a free concert from now on.”  Yep…the concert is now billed as a “benefit concert,” though whom exactly will be benefiting remains a complete mystery.  Evidently no one will be getting paid, so it’s unclear how that’s going to work.  Donations are being encouraged, which, we all know how that will turn out.

So they have a tentative venue in a nowhere state, and they’re now hoping that a bunch of people will show up to watch who knows which if any bands show up to play for free will donate enough money for the staff and organizers and maybe even the artists to get pain at least a couple bucks for their troubles.

Absolutely desperate.

N.P.: “The Order of Death” – Public Image Ltd.

I’ve been banging away at various keyboards all goddamn day, and at some point it needs to end.  My fingers don’t hurt, but they might be slightly numb.

Oh, to hell with it.  I’ve still got some words to get down.  Gonna get back to it.   Here…hold my whiskey while i write these two books.

N.P.: “Nemesis” – Shriekback

Started 3 or 4 ideas tonight…none of them yet fit enough to share here.  Maybe tomorrow, dearest reader…maybe tomorrow.

N.P.: “White Rabbit” – Collide

It’s too damn hot to write.  It’s really too damn hot to do anything.  It’s probably too hot to sleep, but I’m going to give it a shot.

N.P.: “Sleeping Bag” – ZZ Top

Gotta be brief tonight, dear reader…haven’t gotten much sleep the last two nights.  This wretched heat takes some of the blame for that.  Also way too much writing that needs to be done.  So I need a manager, an assistant, and at least 10 more hours in each day.  A mental health treatment team would be helpful as well.  And a masseuse.

N.P.: “The Shooting Star” – Gojira