Hind Tit

Rain is the only saving grace for the end of this week. What a motherfucker. Last night the alternator of my truck gave up the ghost while I was in transit to sword class. I puller over on the highway and just said "FUCK IT.", grabbed my longsword waster and my gym shoes and jogged the remaining mile-and-a-half to class. I was less than ten minutes late. I was quite proud of myself. I felt like a real trooper. I probably looked like a psycho running down the road with a big wooden sword in one hand and a pair of shoes in the other. "God DAYAM!! That nigga just robbed somebody's shoes off wit a sword and der he go!".

The day before that my uncle, only 13 years older than me, died at his home in Florida. Cause unknown. I'll be flying down there next week for the proceedings.

Next on the list of sorrow is my "raise". Two dollars more a day. Raise or bitch-slap? You make the call. Maybe now I can afford a Sunday paper to look for another job. Fucking pricks.

Last thing on the list that won't be checked off any time soon: poverty. I just got payed and ITS FUCKING GONE. Everything will get paid but, fuck, nothing left for just hangin' out a little.

Well like I said; at least it rained. Slick, neon reflections, the hissss of speeding tires on wet Riverside pavement, the sheer joy of knowing I can get a full night of sleep if I want to without getting up too early. See? Always an upside.

Bike for a Truck

I'm putting the word out to all those interested:

I'm looking for a late 1960's-early1970's Honda motorcyle WITH a sidecar. The thing must run GOOD. NO FIXER-UPPERS!

WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU?

I'm willing to trade, straight across, my 1994 Nissan 4x4 with camper shell. It will eventualy need a new tire and brake pads. It needs the right front turn signal reinstalled and the emergeancy brake reconnected. The engine runs like a champ. Interior is good. Title is clean. Just can't beat a Nissan. Except with a 60s-70s Honda bike with a sidecar.

I've decided that I like riding more than driving. Driving is such a pain in the ass. Riding is a fucking blast.
"What about winter?", You may ask. That's what the sidecar's for, bitch. Can't lay over due to slicky roads. It may spin around and around in a circle, but that might be fun.
"What about rain?", You may ask. NIGGA, PLEASE! 'nuff said.

So if you're interested in this proposition, or know someone who might be, just click on the little "comment" here at the bottom which is preceded by a number, usualy zero since no one leaves comments. Leave some info.
Thank you, my sweet bitches.

Jack & Cider

It doesn't even seem like it was last night but it was. I went over to my friends' house originally to do some metal work. Some other friends of theirs were present so, for whatever reason, we went to the liquor store for to buy a bottle of JD. We brought it back and enjoyed it with Coka-cola and ice while BBQing some chicken and steak. Nothing but yukin' it up all night long. We ran outa Coke so we used apple cider to mix the Jack with. Not that great but after four or five more like that I didn't seem to mind. Somewhere along the way my friend and I broke out our longsword wasters (wooden practice swords) and went a few rounds. What was VERY surprising was that neither of us were hurt in the least. My waster, however, is wasted. The pommel split in half and the guard flew off like a boomerang. Oh well, nothing a little Gorilla Glue can't fix. I stayed the night in their extra room on the bottom bunk bed that couldn't survive anything but sleeping.
After I got home I slept the rest of the booze off which took most of the daylight hours.

I've decided the time has come to be rich. It's the only way I'll be able to live this type of life ALL the time. Surely the instructions can be found at the library...

Bloated, Untalented Photophobe

Whata weekend. Spent most of it at my friends' house drinking beer and eating omlettes and steak. A difficult proposition when your stomach has contracted from over a week-and-a-half of miniscule diet. We got it done, though, in fine Bristol fashion.

Today after work I went to the Taco Bueno down the street and made an observation. A new girl was learning the register with a manager and it didn't look like she was picking it up very fast. Either you pick up working a register or you don't. I've seen new kids take to it like mamma's tit. Others, like me, never get the hang of it. My observation is this: If you don't pick it up in a reasonable amount of time, you never will. If you're sharp enough to pick it up quickly, you're wasting your talent working a register.

Almost eight o'clock and Sol is damn near down. I used to dread being inside when the sun went down. It felt like the world was turning without me. Now I dread being in the headlights of a police car. Those blaring lights at your back. You feel like you're watching yourself on COPS. What dread. What dispair. If I were burried alive, I'd feel, at least, I had a chance.

Steadfast Plan of Action

A partial cease fire on poverty has begun! I got paid at last. Just in time, too. The truck was past E and I didn't want to push my luck stealing any more gas from work. However, I don't know if I can stretch this check much further than the last one. At least rent, the big one, isn't in my list of bills this period. I'm gonna go for the irresponsible and order a sword. I'm just getting the blade, though. I'll make the necessary furniture my damn self to save on cost.

Takin' it easy tonight. I'm not doing shit but for a little writing, reading, scheming, and sleeping. The ol' grind is grinding, indeed. I work too hard for my pittance. Don't we all?
Slowly, slowly, if I, if we, keep just one simple idea in my/our head/heads for enough consecutive days, I/we can make it happen. Distraction is the problem. Problems are such a...OOooh, look! A bird...

Noble Cracker With Floored Noodles

Tonight our fencing instructor briefly went over some of the history of German long sword tradition. In its day, it was, like most other sword arts, for the nobles. One had to be well read and educated. There's almost no way a peasant could have access to such information even if said peasant could read. I think, as I'm hearing this, "Wow. here I am learning this noble art without a dime to my name until tomorrow." This puts me in two minds. On one side, I feel honored and certainly privileged. On the other, I feel like a fucking total louse.
The guy who really formalized Italian long sword, Fiore Dei Liberi, wrote in his Flos Duelatorum something along the lines that this art should not fall into the hands of the peasants "...for they are born dull and meant only for hard work." Or something like that. Hell, you KNOW he's right. We spend all our precious lives toiling with no time for lofty endeavors. No wonder we're so damn dull.

Anystink, after I dropped my friend off from class, I went home to heat up some noodles in the radar box. As soon as I took the bowl out it flopped face first, noodle-side down on the linoleum. What did Mister Nobility do? He swept 'em back in the bowl for another shot in the nuker and enjoyed his dinner, that's what he did!
Hell, I may not deserve to learn the Art but that's the best thing about America. The most undeserving douche bags have it all.

Struggling Road Warrior

Autumn is making her wonderful presence known at last. It's been cool, cloudy, and raining for the last two days and I really can't complain too much. This is usually mating season for me but I have severed most ties with old flames. It's good to start fresh. Or maybe I'll just beat my dick like it owes me money. We'll see how that goes...

Looks like I'll be surviving on noodles for the rest of the week. Not Ramen, bitch. Real Chinese wheat noodles with sauted peppers in olive oil and plenty of basil. Good shit, negro. As far as gasoline goes, I may have to steal once again from the company. Mad Max is becoming more real every day. If only I had a mohawk and football shoulder pads.

One thing about rain I've always loved; the way street lights and neon reflect off the wet pavement at night. Hmmm...That may inspire a painting. I'll need to consult the Bob Ross archives for some technical tips. If only I could find the buried treasure. I could stay out all night and experience these things more. The wee hours this time of year are when I'm at my best. Too fuckin' bad I have to sleep during them.

Cars and jobs, the morbid spiral. Get a car to go to work so you can pay for the car. I say SPIRAL, not circle, because the expenses for cars go up while wages stay the same, indeed, in some places wages are falling, therefore, one spirals down. What a jip.

Man, payday is going to be the feast of a thousand omelets...

The Trough

Shit, hard times, people. I have another week to go before payday and I am smooth cashless. I've been over at my friends' house eating their food and drinking their beer all damn night. Some how I made it home without being pulled over. Every day's a miracle. Friday, while I was still at work, I waited until the boss was gone and took a company truck to the Texaco with a fuel card and my five gallon gas can. I then filled up the can using the company card, went back to work and finished up the day. When everyone was gone I filled up MY truck with the gas. That's how hard-up for moolah I am at present, but, as you can see, it only hones my resoursefulness. It will show up as just another run for fuel already consumed. This is certainly not the only (or last) time I've stolen, but it is one of the more bite-the-hand-that-barely-feeds-you type thefts I've ever perpatrated. The next issue is food. Tonight was a lucky one. My friend's wife makes the best nachos on planet Shitpile. Tomorrow another friend is having a BBQ. I know this makes me sound like a mooch. I ALWAYS give back to my friends what they do for me so come payday, it's BBQ & beer for everyone on me. Anypoo, Monday thru Thursday will be an interesting challenge to see what I can slap together outa the fridge.
If I come up with anything novel, I'll let ya know...

Camera Obscura & The Beer Swillin' Smith

I've been debating myself on the issue of posting pics. It would mean getting this damn 200MgHz piece of crap to actually operate the software that came with the camera. Since I don't know sack about computers this will be challenging.
I fired up the forge the other day to see if it still worked. It's set up over at some friends' house and I had their kids working the blower while I worked the Ford Ranger leaf spring into the roughish shape of a narrower, thicker bar of steel that will ultimately become a dagger for fencing class. The softwood charcoal didn't get very hot and it didn't last very long so I didn't get very far. I dumped the coals from the forge into the BBQ and put the chicken on. By this time the beer I bought for this outing was half gone. I was the only one drinking it. Not enough money in the wallet for more. Shit. I need a raise. After dinner the youngest of the two fetched my last beer and I had them clean up the mess we'd made with the forge. Responsibility. Direction. Positive role models. These are the demons one must slay in order for children to have realistic perspective.
What a life. Other than money, I've got it all.