Busy.

N.P.: “Gonna Die Alone” – Hanni El Khatib

I’m a cold heartbreaker, fit to burn,
and I’ll rip your heart in two.
And I’ll leave you lying on the bed
with your ass in the air.
~ W. Axl Rose

It’s funny, dearest reader, but that is almost a direct quote of what I said to my prom date when she opened the door when I picked her up for The Big Night.  So you can imagine my surprise when, years later, as the credits were rolling on the latest installment of the Terminator franchise, I heard my good friend Axl belting out the same words I’d used to make my prom date swoon so many years before.  It was weird, and my first instinct was to litigate viscously, but I decided against it.  That wouldn’t be cool.  Axl didn’t steal my words…he wasn’t even there on prom night.  I just chalked it up to great minds thinking alike and left it at that.  Because they do, goddammit…great minds do think alike.   Which brings us to the point, for whatever it’s worth, and that….
…it’s the phone…I gotta take this.  Remind me about the point tomorrow.

N.P.: “Don’t Bring Me Down” – Black Stone Cherry

I’m generally very unsuccessful at relaxing.  The last few days have proved the same.  I really tried, dear reader, to just Take It Easy.  It just didn’t seem to work out.

N.P.: “Couldn’t Get It Right” – Fun Lovin’ Criminals

I just wanted to have a hamburger for dinner.  I’m an apex predator, for Christ’s sake, and lately I’ve been eating entirely too much chicken.  So a hamburger it is.  I’m kind of burnt out on Shake Shack…they’re okay, but greasy as hell.  Like you can wring out the bun and grease drips out.  But still, I wanted a goddamn hamburger.  And what should suddenly appear under the “Now On DoorDash” tab like it’s the new player in town: The Burger Den.  Great…a place that is solely focused on burgers.  They’re going to have quality ingredients, fresh, simple.  And mother of God look at these pictures!  If ever there was a gourmet burger, there it is: a professionally made hamburger in a professionally photographed picture.  So I was in.  I ordered a burger and onion rings.  And right way, The Burger Den confirms the order.  And suddenly the app is telling me that my delicious burger will be here in 15 minutes.  This place must be very close to have that ludicrous of a delivery eta.  So I looked at the map.  The Burger Den is fucking Denny’s.  Nobody wants to DoorDash Denny’s, so Denny’s started just making up new names of restaurants people would actually order from.  I know, plenty of chains have been rebranding themselves with online delivery services, and fine…you gotta do what you gotta do to stay in business.  But something about this transaction left me feeling a bit ripped off.  If I’d wanted a goddamn DennyBurger, I would have ordered a DennyBurger.

N.P.: “Dogs of Lust” – The The

Greetings from The Creek, dear reader!  Murdered my first wolf spider of the season.  Bonus: it was outside.  Yep, the arachno-jihad is on the offensive.  No longer shall we wait until they’re actually in the house…no, fearless reader, we are taking the fight to them.
Fuck I hate spiders.  Not fear…hate.

N.P.: “DSPTCH” – The Anix

Ludicrously busy day today, dear reader.  It’s been like this for a while now.  No idea how I’m still vertical.  Anyway, managed to write some good stuff today.

N.P.: “Hey Boy Hey Girl – Cover Version” – Bud Spencer Blues Explosion

The neighbor’s upset because I peed in his pool.  I wasn’t swimming in it…I just sort of stumbled over there and peed in his pool.  And now he’s upset.  But he’s not nearly as upset as he’s going to be after I dynamite his lawn.  I’m doing this for his own good, of course.  That poor, miserable  bastard has been beaten down over decades by his troll of a wife, who is uglier than a barrel full of busted assholes and known for driving around in her shitty Prius with her husbands testicles hanging from the rear-view mirror like dice.  She is horrible, and spends most evenings under a bridge feeding on goats.  Anyway, this guy has nothing in life anymore except his lawn and his pool.  His entire identity is wrapped up in those two things.  Whenever Jose and the Army of Gardeners mow the front lawn, this asshole is out there as soon as Jose et al. depart, mowing his lawn a centimetre shorter than my lawn, because he simply could not tolerate having longer grass than his neighbor.  I keep meaning to go out there after he’s done and completely buzz my lawn.  That would put him in quite the quandary: to preserve the dignity of his lawn, he would have to destroy it.  But I never have the energy.
But now this friend of mine is just back from Alaska with a bunch of seal bombs that I’m just aching to try.  By blowing up his lawn, I will be relieving him of a burden he has subconsciously be crying out to be relieved of.  There is the problem of The Law, of course.  Gosh darn The pesky Law.  It’s my own fault for living in The Haunt, which is well within the city limits of Fecal Creek.  Which means no discharging of firearms or causing explosions allowed.  Which sucks.  Outside of the city limits, in Anhedonia County, it’s almost anarchy: fireballs on the horizon at dusk.  People blowing shit up all over the place.  They burn their trash in huge barrels.  They dry their sheets on a line outside.  I like the way they live.  But here I sit, in The Creek, with a huge bottle of whiskey and about a dozen seal bombs and an open contempt of my neighbor’s lawn.  Perhaps I should just take some NyQuil and calm down.

N.P.: “Rock El Casbah” – Rachid Taha

Trevor Noah still has perhaps the most punchable face on television.  Which says a lot, as I find most faces on television punchable.  I’m coming for you, Trevor, and it’s going to be fucked up: even with a sizable staff of overpaid writers, you are not funny.

I killed a centipede in the writing shed today.  I did not appreciate its presence, and called it a motherfucker before murdering it.  No centipedes (nor any members of the insect kingdom) allowed in the my goddamn writing shed.

N.P.: “Running Whiskey (feat. Billy F Gibbons)” – Supersonic Blues Machine

Beyond exhausted and dangerously psychologically overdrawn.  Other than that, I’m splendid.

N.P.: “Off The Ground” – The Record Company

Holy monkey, dear reader…I am completely spent.  Going directly to bed.  All nightly festivities have been cancelled.  We’ll see about tomorrow.

N.P.: “Head Over Heels” – JD McPherson