I suck... I am so content and familiar and I feel fucking depressed. I am playing a party tomorrow, spinning. I also told this woman in the bar that I would build her a record case for her husband. That is a nice thing to do. She was an attorney named Jenny, at a place called Underbar, and what a FINE bar I might add. VEry cozy locale, decorated in the traditional North North-American fall colors (greens, yellows, reds, and oranges, muted not gloss. But I digress. Wait, no, there's more. The bartender reminded me of Michael Dew, the dew man. This fella hails by the name o' Reverend JEffrey, a purveyor of only the finest ales, beers, and down key beats in relaxing Rythyms, the likes of Eno making that Airport music. Again, I digress, here in earnest.
I decided to do another good deed (the record rack for Jenny's husband), I fret to say another lest I be beaten again by the powers that be, yet I oft do good things for others. These acts are partially selfless with the other motivating portions offered to the keepers of Karma. Well, today, after much goodness from a streak of undetermined times, God, or whomever, has given me another pillowbiting experience without properly providing a good pull on the frontside. Some beast hither hath thieved mine bicylcle! No seriously, someone stole my fuckin' bike. I suspect foul play perpetrated by the filth living below me (co-habitants of this dwelling, un-related to me). These people are in the middle of a divore and she lives in the basement and he lives on the first floor. I apologize for the disjointed message, "a convoluted story, I'll admit" but I need to get this of my chest before I commit some drastic act in a blind passion.
So, we were to the clowns downstairs correct? Aye, I thought so... Despite my lack of drama due to me constant efforts to uncreate drama It so boldly sought me out Today.
As I struck off for the home of a friend I descend my stairs to bust out the ol' bicycle, much easier to ride there on the twos than the fours. What to my dismay did I find in the place I keep my bicycle? A great emptiness where usually some gears, grease, and aluminum lie. My great pissiness boiling up to the big browns, this cannot be!!!!! But alas, it was, and here I am. 5 hours, 4 beers, and two glasses of wine later I am agravated, but only slighly. A skeeter bite on the ankle on a day too hot to mind, only this is fall and a skeeter bite today throbs like a hammer on the thumb or a bike stolen on an October day. GOD DAMMIT. I want to destroy. This is the 2ND bike in 5 years. Can't this low-rent, two-bit, half-rate, gawl-dang, mother-fucking, sons of bitches go buy their own bike?
BAck to the divorcees. They ain't getting of that easy. Well as I said, he lives above her, probably because neither was getting above either, for some time, but this is irrelevant, neither here, nor there, as it were. So, his fellas come over for the poker about once a week and they carry on til all hours, they start late so it does not wakes us up Gov' ner, but they carry, and they carry. Well, me thinks one of his fella split off with my bike. That, again, neither here, nor there, leads me to the ultimate point. I have to file a police report, get the multiple acct. #s for this and that and sort these fucker's flotsam and jetsam out.
God bless you and yours, and if you see a "joy thief" which is different than a "necesity thief"...shoot the fucker in the face. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrr
!!!!!
More wine!
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