Tag Archives: Home Depot

Fling my flesh into a tree. Feed me to the trout.

Two hornet stings. New dishwasher broken on the delivery truck. About to get that CD review I paid someone to write. If you’re not signed by a record company, don’t kid yourself. No one is writing a review in their publication for a CD without any juice behind it. There’s “Indy” and there’s “INDY”. They wear uniforms too. Who was it, Frank Zappa who said that? Anyhow, I can’t but embrace it.

You’d be surprised at how much $$$ changes hands before any kind of “revolution” is given even cursory lip-service.

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I have a pathological need to make people uncomfortable.

Went to Home Depot to purchase ad hoc Bo staffs for the boys.  They turned out to be the perfect length, but most of their peers had thicker ones, so I guess it’s back to the store tomorrow. I might go tonight. I have a yen for chocolate. They sell chocolate at Home Depot. Why? I don’t know.

So off we went to Taekwondo, the boys in the back seat eagerly holding their Bo staffs. We get out of the rain and into the room and i tell the boys to focus. Those things are dangerous and can really hurt someone. Don’t run with them and don’t try to fight someone else holding their Bo staff.  It might seem fun, maybe even liberating, but trust me. Only harm will come to both of you.

His steely countenance amplifies and complements the rigidity of his Bo staff.














As H had never used one before, he was uncertain as to how to hold it when the sensei…boss…majordomo….whatever….so he began rolling it up and down on his lap. Knowing that the precious yellow belt was a mere one or two displays of taut discipline away, I gently but firmly admonished him thusly: “H, please stop playing with your staff…” and I self-righteously sat back down, looked at the lady next to me, and the Rolodex of desire began a-turnin’.

Oh, I could have just left it to hang in the air, but the Rolodex of desire would not let me do this. I live for self-amusement in a world that saddens me at every turn. If no one else enjoys my antics, my follies of bridge-burning skill and dexterity, then I would be fucked if I, myself, didn’t swing at every goddamned pitch that came into my wheelhouse. And thus it was: “There’s a phrase I’ll be uttering for a while…”   Yeah, I could have done better. And even though my audience is meaningless to me by and large in these, the salad days of my demise/legend, she returned a special kind of sneer one reserves for someone who spills a drink on your seat which made it all worth it.  Go fuck yourself, lady. We’re all gonna die.

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