Good idea pt 1

Joe waited outside the large brick building shivering slightly as a cold wind caught him sending chills down his body. He paced slightly as he waited, nervous in anticipation of what he was about to participate in. The apartment building was a dark, brick, somewhat run down affair, as if it had been neglected for some time. The door to the inside was locked to keep out the derilects who sometimes attempted to get in and sleep. This is crazy, Joe thought as he paced up and down the sidewalk. Break in's, robbery, it was not his bag. But his friend Alan had described it in a way that had made it hard to resist. Free bud, scales, bowls, maybe even cash. Enough to set them up good if they played the cards right. And of course, the perfect target. A drug dealer, someone who could never call the police even if they wanted to. 'Hey, you ready?' Joe was awakened from his thoughts by Alan. 'Yeah, just feeling a little nervous.' 'Ah it will be fine, lets smoke this jay.'Alan suggested. 'You got some?' Joe asked. 'Obviously.' Alan reached into his pockets and extracted a medium size bone. He took out his lighter and started torching it, 'Right here?' Joe asked. 'Why not?' Alan said as he inhaled. He passed it over to Joe, 'You see you worry too much. You overthink everything. Make it more complicated than it has to be.' Joe took a large rip and handed it back to Alan. 'So run his all by me again.' Joe said. Alan took another hit and handed it back. 'Ok this Russian kid Anatoly, kind of an asshole sells a shitload of bud lives on the thrid floor. He's gone back to the motherland for a month, so all we got to do is get in kick down the door and take what we need and get out.' Alan passed the joint to Joe which was getting smaller. 'First of all how do you kick down the door, second won't that make alot of noise?'
'There's a weak point in the door, if you kick hard enough you can bring it down. Second this building is filled, with drug dealers, crazies, and prositutes no ones going to do shit even if they do hear anything.' The joint was done by now and Joe was feeling slightly more at ease. They moved closer toward the door. Joe had seen little activity coming in or out from the building in the 45 minutes he had been standing outside. Suddenly he noticed a figure coming toward the door. The man opened it and Alan eased his way in and Joe followed suit. The man eyed them warily but seemed unproturbed. The hallway had a musty odor, with the faint undertone of booze. 'Alright lets do this.' Alan said as they ascended the stairs.

The only one that called me was the fatty

Bill sped down the open road his eye fixed upon the white lines in the center. The rain was coming down in torrents, buckets, thick drops as if the clouds were unloading every last bit of moisture contained withthin them. Still Bill drove, oblivious to the massive tempest unleashing itself upon the earth. He had consumed several glasses of scotch yet he felt clear and intense as if all his faculties were gathered in perfect harmony. Revenge was his object. Bill had the means to obtain this goal, he had the will. A loaded .44 sat in his glove compartment and a full dose of vitriol and venom lay within his soul. Bill remembered a long time back that living well was the best revenge, to let bygones be bygones to let things slide. However Bill had never been one to subscribe to this notion. To him getting revenge was the best revenge. Vicious, cruel, horrible revenge in the most extreme way possible. It was tit for tat every sinlge injustice done to him would be responded by a justice far worse and more extreme than the original crime. In Bill's mind it was simple mathematics, everything had to be righted to be made so everything was on an even kilter. In Bill's line of work this attitude was not only tolerated, but recommended. To not exact payment, or to allow something like that to slip was a clear sign of weakness. To show any sign of weakness was all but an invitation to allow all manner of competition to rush in and exploit that weakness. By the time it was all over all of his operation would be defunct, kaput, taken over by more bold adversaries. But Bill had never been that type of operator. When he felt something wrong had been done to him or someone was cheating him he found out the truth and if the rumours were indeed true, head would roll. People would die, dissapear, never to be found again. Bill was an expert at making people dissapear and also adept at thinking up a damn good alibi for himself after. This one would be more difficult as his target was more linked to him and he intended to carray out the grisly work himself. Still he had confidence in his abilities. Bill knew
he would likely be questioned in regard to the suspects wherabouts but that without clear evidence nothing would come of it. Because he intended to have nothing be found, not a single scrap of fiber, skin, nothing. The person would just dissapear.

By the time we got to Woodstock we were half a million strong

Masturbation is like the back end of the pantry. The dry goods, the ramen noodles, the macaroni and cheese the things one eats when one has exhausted all the meat,vegetables, and main staples. Sure it does the job. It satifies the urge of hunger and it is realtively cheap and easy to make. But still when one has only ate ramen for a prolonged period of time you begin to yearn. Yearn for something better. For some steak godamnit, or some kind of better nutrition.

Hilarity

The figure across the street looked weak, emaciated, and seeming to have trouble walking as it lumbered slowly down the street. Frank watched it as he pumped gas into his semi, it looked like a man but there was something amiss. The way it walked suggested a drunk, perhaps a derelict on a bender yet that also defied logic. The truck stop was in the middle of a rural area and the nearest town had to be at least a mile away. Frank had taken the first exit he could see for gas as he had been driving for 17 hours straight. It was quite possible that his eyes were playing tricks on him or there was some kind of feasiable explanation for a man walking on a rural road at two in the morning. The figure moved closer by now about 30 feet away down the street plodding towards the truck stop slowly and methodically. It had been unusually hot the past few days and Frank could feel sweat gathering upon his brow as he finsihed pumping. Something was wrong here, something told him he did not want to find out exactly what the man's purpose was at this late hour. Frank sensed strongly the need to get out of there and back on the road. There was an eerie silence which rapt the air with only the buzzing of myriad insect filling the night air. Frank walked up to the gas pump and slid his card. He pressed the button selecting his method of payment and waited as the machine processed it. The man had crossed the road by now and Frank could see him more clearly as he entered the streetlight. The eyes had a glazed over look and he could see also the open wounds which dominated his face. His flesh seemed to be peeling off by the minute as he slowly walked toward the gas station. He looked like the walking dead. Fank watched as his card finally processed and quickly got back into his truck. Frank quickly gunned the engine as the creature was now closing in on his truck. He could hear it emit a low groaning sound which sent a chill down his spine. Whatever that thing was he knew it wasn't human and he didn't want to find out what. As he drove off he heard a thud against the passenger door. The creature lunged at his veichle but not quite fast enough. Frank looked into his rearview mirror and saw it continue toward the gas station. Something fuckin strange in his town, he thought as he heading toward the highway.

The truth finds its way up through the sands of deception

Why is everyone so down on sluts? What harm have they ever done? Besides of course the ouccasional std or unwanted pregnancy they bring joy to countless individuals. What wrong with wanting to spread around some love? Not that sex and love are interchangeable but still. And no girl will ever ever admit to being a slut. The charge will almost unvariably be wholly denied. I would love to just see a girl just say yes! I am a slut. And I wholly own up to my whorish behavoir and will continue in such a hilarious manner. By golly whats wrong with that? And of course there is the whole over side of it, where a dude would never deny banging alot of chicks. In fact its complely opposite where a mans whole measure of himself and who he is seems hinged upon his sucess with the opposite sex. If there were a term for a male slut surely no male would deny such charges. I mean what is so wrong with enjoying the act of sex? For godsake its a beautiful thing and of course its natural that some people would enjoy it frequently. I wish I could just change all the rules of the game. I feel as a male, the females have all the cards. They are the coveted ones the ones sought after and I am expected to be the pursuer. Why am I not similiarly coveted? I feel I have enough redeeming qualities to merit such lust.

Get ready you mutha, for the big payback

So I had a weird encounter with a bus driver which totally threw my day out of whack. I was getting on and I did not realize I had left my bus pass with my other pants, so I put thirty cents in the fare box before acknowledging that I didn't have enough. The bus driver look at me angrily obviously pissed off by my lack of funds and I said that I saw the bus drivers usually let people through to which he countered, 'you put in thirty cents and you expect me to let you on. Just tell me your short next time.' Eventually another passenger lent me a dollar to put into the fare. So most people would assume this ugly encounter was over right? That the feelings of animus and rage between our two parties would have subsided? That assumption would prove to be incorrect. As I pressed the button for my stop which clearly rang and was audible I was than let off a good three blocks from my stop well past the stop light. Clearly passive/agressive bullshit on the part of the driver. I can understand from a certain vantage point as someone who deals with people daily and has to deal with the bullshit but on the other hand it pissed me the fuck off. It was so obvious, so intentionally designed to obtain some kind of 'revenge' on someone who did something that is done all the time. Maybe I am wrong slightly, maybe there was just reason for his umbrage. Certainly a proportion of the bus fares go to the bus drivers salary, and maybe he had had a long day of non-fare payers before me which is certainly commonplace.

I'm pickin up good vibrations

So its been awhile since I rapped on this thing. And few things have changed but still some things stay the same. I think I would be a good raiseing children in 1902. I remember reading that back then people were more stoic and less emotive and the concept of childhood had not yet fully evolved. Children were thought of as little adults and dressed and expected to act as such. I think for me the number one thing that would piss me off about raiseing kids would be the constant shout and loudness and strange irrationtal behavoir. Also I was pondering about life in the 1850s. The impetus for this thought came as I saw a notice that the power was going to be cut off in our apartment for a few hours in the morning because of some kind of surge. I knew that certain people had calling cards which specified the times in which someone could call on another person. I coulden't help but wondering if someone came in and just popped in at someones house would it be acceptable. What would be the standards for social conduct in an era without means of notifying someone beforehand?