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Some viral spam robot has reminded me I wrote this simple ode to joy way back in 2007. Let's revisit it and see if it stands up to the test of time.
Booking
I had to do another book report for English.
The one I handed in on Louis L'Amour's "Hondo" wasn't acceptable.
"You need to read an approved book. This is a western about a woman being raped and the man who kills the rapist."
"But I liked it. It's a good book."
"A good book is something by Ernest Hemingway."
"Bullshit."
The teacher sighed. Then she decided to take pity on me and give me a warning.
"You have to pick another book. I'll give you an extension. Just have me approve the book."
So I took the bus to the mall. It took some work but I managed to steal a tennis racket from the sporting good store and sell it in front of the mall. I took that money and got a slice of pizza and an orange drink. I wondered what kind of book I would read.
Then a kid named Ronnie walked by. HE recognized me from detention.
"What's up Oggy. You cock sucker."
"Hey, ROnnie. You still bangin' your mother?
"Naw, I gave her up to bang that whore who gave birth to you."
"Is that right? Well, I hope your mom likes the vibrator I got for her. YOu could hide a football in her pussy."
Ronnie laughed. Nick walked by with his mother and we both made farting sounds. Nick tried to laugh.
"Hey, Mrs. Cristos," said Ronnie. "You know Nick likes to beat off in the bathroom at school?"
Nick and his mom walked quickly into Sears.
"You gonna get new underware for your fat son? They don't make panties for fatties!" I yelled, but they were too far away.
I took the remaining money and played a few games at the arcade. There was a gun fighting game called COmmando. I liked that game. And there was another two-person game where you shot at a big screen. I liked to put quarters into both players and use both guns. People used to call me psycho. Sometimes I'd shoot at the screen even when the time had run out.
I ran out of money and ended up walking home. I didn't mind walking because I liked to imagine a busload of cheerleaders picking me up and taking me to some nice house where I could play arcade games. We'd have sex too, whatever that meant, but I really just wanted to play arcade games all day. My dream was an arcade game that had unlimited credits. Kids used to talk about how they once found an Asteroids game with unlimited credit. IT was like an urban legend. I just couldn't imagine a game that didn't need quarters. You could just play. That was heaven.
No busload of cheerleaders picked me up but a guy in a white van asked me if I wanted to take some pictures in the back of his van. I said I didn't know if I should. He gave me $20 and a pack of peanut M&M candy. I said alright. So we went to this place called pierce Island. He said it wouldn't take long. He said if the pictures were good then I would get more money. maybe even get into fashion. He had a matress in the back of his van. So I went back there and it was real hot because it was one of those spring nights when you think it's summer. He gave me some whiskey and soda. I was feeling good and I did whatever he told me to do. He said I had a nice body, a body like a professional swimmer. He said he would give me $20 more to take my shirt off. So I did that. And then $20 more to take my shorts off. I didn't mind. My uncle Marty once gave me a few dollars to sit on his lap. I knew men like this. So I took it all off and he took pictures. He asked me how old I was.
"14? You got a nice body for that young. I thought you were at least 18."
"People tell me that a lot. It's because of my beard."
I didn't shave regularly so I had a stubble on my chin.
The guy came closer to me and started to touch me. I stopped him.
"That costs $50 more to touch me down there."
"$30?"
"$50 or let me out."
"All I got is $40."
He gave me two twenties. It didn't feel bad. I just thought of those cheerleaders in that bus. I thought of unlimited credits on asteroids and pac man. I thought of Ronnie and Nick. Maybe we'd play whiffle ball later. Baseball season was almost here.
After he was done I took another swig of the whiskey. The guy was outside taking a piss and I saw a stack of books on one side of the van. I took one and stashed it in my pants. I saw a nice switchblade knife too and took that to pawn or sell at school.
They always get nasty after they get what they want. Like they don't want to see you anymore. So I got tossed out near the basketball courts. Clutch was there shooting free throws and I shot a few with him.
"Your dad was down here looking for you about an hour ago," said Scooter.
"Fuck that old man. Was he drunk?"
"Yep."
I got going. When I got home my dad gave me the belt. When he was hitting me some money fell out of my pocket.
"What the fuck is this? Where did you steal this?"
"I didn't steal it. I worked for it. It's mine."
I tried to grab the $80 but he pulled it away and gave me the back of his hand.
"You don't work. You don't do anything. get on your knees."
Turned out my mom was at the police station again. Had a drunk and disorderly against her so we had to go down there and get her out. While I was waiting outside the processing office I checked out the book I had swiped.
"Lusty Housewives"
I read a couple of pages. It wasn't bad. These housewives get together and fuck everyone who comes near them, the postman, the gas man, the gardener, their husbands, each other. It was real dirty. When we got my mom home I wrote up that book report. I was supposed to write what I thought the Theme of the book was. I wrote: Love.
I'm making a belt buckle with only Jarritos bottle caps so I guess you'd call this research or getting material.
I can't make this comparison any more clear. Yes, most people will claim the Goldman Sachs building on the left "is important". But don't you think the Pharaoh's said the same thing about their pyramid? It's partly frustration at living in a digital age that is perplexing and reliant on the dead bodies of plants and microorganisms, beautiful parks that became coal and oil that we burn to propel our sagging bodies around on mini quests for ice cream and wolves. And part of this world is hedge fund and multinational bulge bracket investment banking and all those other "important" institutions that grain farmers and Inuits build with their carved bricks. But the snake oil salesmen have gotten smarter. Now they don't sell you snake oil. They take your money and promise you snake oil profits at some later date. And then they promise someone else that snake oil sales will plummet so they hedge their investments and take a commission on either a loss or a gain. The snake oil salesman doesn't care either way.
concrete that puts me right on track for Grade A diabetes before I turn 42. Ah, the silky texture, the lumps of chocolate, the banana. This is what Elvis dreamed of in his late era of sweat and Quaaludes. It's better than drugs. It's pure Midwest sin, the kind of stuff you confess to your priest on Sunday. The mini is like a half pint of custard for $3. If you get any more than that then either you are sharing it with another fatty or you are determined to commit suicide by buttermilk. The withering heat from the treeless city will melt your custard in under five minutes so if you get a cone then expect to be licking it from your knuckles. It's the best custard experience and if you are going to die with custard in your mouth, then let it be from Teddy Drewes.
