On Melrose They Dress Like Midnight

She never meant to be late it always just turned out that way. It was her every best intention to be prompt but the facts never bore out that reality. Her tardiness was not born of rudeness or uncaring, it was a byproduct of a different malady, one she had little control over.

The shower hissed and sprayed and she overjoyed in her bathing. She loved to take showers and would do so a minimum of twice as day. She would start by turning on the bath water from the spigot. When the water was rushing hot from the tap she would pull on the stopper and the shower nozzle would engage and send thirty small streams of water spraying into the tub below. She would wait until the room was steam filled and then enter and bathe.

After washing and rewashing herself she would sit for a while feeling the hot water cascading over her. As the limit of hot water ran its course and cooled she would make her remove.

She always used a clean towel, never a moist towel, always fresh. She would dry herself, apply some lotion, then a quick blowdry of her hair.

As she moved to the mirror she could see her features but muted. The steam that had collected on the mirror was like a gauze softening her looks. She would sit and stare at this representation of her face and wonder at the magical quality.

Opening the bathroom door a rush of cool air would enter. She would pull on a robe to guard against the nip. At this time the mirror would begin to lose its protective coating and reality would creep back in.

She was a fine looking young lady but she didn't think so.

It was time to apply her makeup.



Ever since she had been a young girl she was fascinated with makeup and creating an image to put forth to the world. She would create a mask from which to hide behind. She wore a foundation base. She powdered herself and drew on her eyes. She layered her lips and perfumed over it all. As she did it she could feel herself transform, she could sense the real world receding and this different alternative universe take hold.

She never rushed. It took as long as it took. Some days longer than others.

She spent jobs applying makeup. She spent friends applying makeup. She spent her life applying makeup.

She never needed the makeup at all. She was always perfect she just didn't know it.

They're Celebrating Without The Reservation

The line to exit the New Beverly Cinema was moving extra slow. It seemed that after a watching of 'One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest' the audience was afraid to let the moment slip. It was if they desired to extend the experience and just spend that much more time with the people that had just witnessed the same thing they had. The communal experience, never underrate it.

There was one moviegoer who especially relished the moment. Years before he came to be called by the moniker of one of the characters in the film. At first it was bandied about by his friends but as time grew so did the circle of people who knew him by this handle.

A time came as to when his real name had receded into the past, lost to all but his innermost self. This nickname took on a weight, it was a trap, it was a call to act a certain way, it was a prison, a caricature of who he was. It did him no good.

For years he struggled under the terrible weight never hearing his name called, always, always that name. The burden became ever greater and promised to drown him whole.

One day it was suggested that he no longer respond to that name. So he didn't.

Leaving the theater that night it warmed him when his best buddy looked him square in the eye. "Happy Birthday Chief."

Sometimes Nestle's Quick Is Just Nestle's Quick

Johnny Cognac gave up on the crack cocaine.




The bubblegum bits never gave up on him but at a certain point Johnny lost his flair for the life. Up until that point he had never really minded the silly things that the drugs willed him to do.

Johnny found no embarrassment not even when he was carpet crawling and smoking lint. When he would pick holes in his skin it was just part of the game, nothing to fret over. Those awkward moments at the store, he'd be in line waiting for the check out, his shopping list complete - chore boy and butane fuel. An officer of the law might pop in for whatever reason. Hard to explain that one away.

No there was nothing wrong with picking up hookers and frequenting cheapest motels. You can always get another cell phone and what does it matter if an outraged whore calls all your friends at 4 a.m.

Four hours wasn't that long to wait for your boy to come out of the apartment building especially since he was holding your forty dollars. The excuses were cute if not a little humble, they always were.

Wasn't it all the more interesting when shadows spoke and electronics listened?



Johnny C. had no problem letting go of the burnt fingers and lighter calluses on his thumb.

The truth was Johnny really didn't have a problem with cocaine. He was living his life and all was as good as could be expected.


One night Johnny just got tired of the monotony. He didn't know it. He couldn't have foreseen it, but Johnny thought himself a somewhat spiritual guy and wasn't afraid to roll with an omen when saw one.

That night he was at the 24hr. market, his shopping list filled, ready to check out. In front of him in line was a young man with an equal if not completely different array of items, Reynolds Wrap and Bic lighters.

The two men stood there each looking over the others modest purchases. Johnny looked down at his Chore Boy and fuel then to the aluminum foil and lighters. The man, Mali, looked at Johnny's Chore Boy and fuel then up at Johnny.

Mali paid the cashier but instead of leaving he waited while Johnny paid.



"Hey man why don't you get some cash back with that." said Mali.

As they left the market Johnny threw his Chore Boy and fuel in the trash.

"Hey man, let's take your ride mines in the shop." said Mali.

With All Due Respect Mr. Weller

On some days Richie would sleep in. Most often on days where the sun hid behind the clouds.

It was one such morning. He made a steaming cup of coffee and climbed back to bed. He was afraid to look over at Carmelita.

He got up and shuffled to the window. Up here he could see over the city. The rain poured relentlessly from on high.

Richie's mind traveled back to the rain of his youth and he heard...








a police car and a screaming siren
pneumatic drill and ripped up concrete
a baby wailing and a stray dog howling
the screech of brakes and lamplights blinking

thats entertainment

a smash of glass and the rumble of boots
an electric train and a ripped up phone booth
paint splattered walls and the cry of a tom cat
lights going out and a kick in the balls

thats entertainment

days of speed and slow time mondays
pissing down with rain on a boring wednesday
watching the news and not eating your tea
a freezing cold flat with damp on the walls

thats entertainment



waking up at 6 a.m on a cool warm morning
opening the window and breathing in petrol
an amateur band rehearsing in a nearby yard
watching the telly and thinking 'bout your holidays

thats entertainment

waking up from bad dreams and smoking cigarettes
cuddling a warm girl and smelling stale perfume
a hot summers day and sticky black tarmac
feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were far away

thats entertainment



two lovers kissing at the scream of midnight
two lovers missing the tranquility of solitude
getting a cab and travelling on buses
reading the grafitti about slashed seat affairs

thats entertainment

The Hitching Post Can Kill

Reggie moved the pistol from hand to hand. He felt it's weight. It was surprising how such a small thing could have so much heft. He was enamored of the precision tooling. This was a fine machine thought Reggie. A fine machine created to destroy.

Reggie had never fired a gun before. He never had reason to. He might not now.

Events that seemed so benign took on more gravitas as each ensuing agency joined the oppression.

It started as a simple parking ticket. There was no need for the ticket and all the other parking enforcement officers agreed but one. Officer J. Stines had a problem with it.

Over and over Stines would give Reggie a ticket for parking on the parkway. He wasn't bothering anyone, he wasn't blocking the parkway, there had never been a complaint in the four years he had parked there before. But to Stines it was a problem. Stines had a hard-on for Reggie's ride.



Reggie complained to the DOT and they agreed. The first girl said she would take care of the first four tickets and if Reggie talked to the Lieutenant he might tell Stines to back off. Reggie called the Lt. but he was on vacation. Stines wrote him six more tickets.

By now Reggie owed over $500.00 in parking tickets. The four that were supposed to be removed weren't. To fight the tickets Reggie would first have to pay them and then he could dispute them. Reggie couldn't put the $500.00 together. The fines grew.

The registration lapsed but Reggie couldn't renew it because he would first have to pay off the tickets.

He was now an outlaw, Whenever he moved about town he had to beware the police lest he be stopped for bad tags.

Time went on when one day Reggie went out and retrieved his mail.

It was an official looking letter, probably another notice asking for him to address his unpaid parking tickets. The total had now gone over $1000.00 and Reggie didn't have it.




This letter was from the State Franchise Tax Board. Reggie had never received one of these before. He opened and was astonished to find that now the State wanted to join the party.

If Reggie didn't come up with the money he owed for parking and registration the State would attach his bank account, garnish his wages, and basically attack his means of self support.


Parking Officer Stines pulled on a yellow slicker. It was to rain that night and he didn't want to get wet.

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part IV

Marty looked sheepishly up at Elaine.

"Marty didn't you hear me I asked you what you were going to do with yourself today?"

"Oh I'm sorry dear. I was just thinking about something."



Marty knew not to let Elaine know he was reminiscing about the old days, she hated when he did that. 'What about now' she most times would scold.

"I need to run a few errands, maybe go get a trim."

Elaine got up from the table and began to clear away the remains of the breakfast.

"That's nice." said Elaine with so little interest that Marty began to question her reasons for asking. 'She doesn't care what I do with my time as long as she knows where I am and how long I'll be gone'. His paranoia was in full bloom and nothing could slow it down.



"Do you have any plans?" asked Marty. "Would you like to come along?"

Marty knew Elaine would never come with him but he had to ask just to test her.

"What did you say dear?' Elaine hadn't been listening.

"Oh nothing, nothing really."

"That's nice." Elaine said throwing Marty a delicious smile as she walked from the kitchen.

Marty drove a 1993 Cadillac Allante hard top convertible. It was the one great purchase of his life. He took great pride in this car, a car that he had paid an extra $700.00 for the pearl white paint option, a car that was one of a run of only 1,931, a car that was the pace car at the Indianapolis 500 in 1992. Although now a little long in tooth the Allante was still his pride and joy.

Marty backed the Allante out on to the street and immediately the blare of a horn angrily accosted him. "Fuck you old man. Learn to fucking drive." A sleek black Mercedes with shiny rims cursed by him in a flash.

Marty ignored the Mercedes, righted the Allante and headed down Talmadge. He made the right on Prospect and then on to Hollywood Blvd.

What was Elaine up to? Perhaps he should double back under the guise of having forgot something. No that wouldn't work he couldn't appear to be forgetful, not now. It was bad enough when he was caught daydreaming at breakfast. No, he had to be stronger than ever if he was to keep that young bastard from stealing his queen Elaine.

The best plan would be to do as he said as he would. Go see Silvio and get a little tune-up on the hair. Maybe go to Pro Drum and get some sticks, shoot the shit with the guys. Perhaps get a burrito at Cactus on Vine.



My god thought Marty I would be so alone without Elaine. My life would just be a series of unconnected events.

Marty rolled the Allante down Hollywood Blvd. There was some sort of commotion but Marty didn't notice. He pulled the Allante over and parked right in front of the Barbershop.

Sunday; it was closed.

Luc Richard Mbah a Moute Is A Bruin

There wasn't a lot of room in the storefront but it would have to do. A rather ignoble place to meet for such a righteous cause but for now it was all they could manage. The rent was cheap, rather there was no rent in that it was Elmer's brother's travel agency that they met every second Saturday night.

Cedrick held forth and his discourse although focused was rather strident and far reaching or so thought Elmer. Elmer sat in the back row and took it all in. If he were the leader then things would change.

Elmer had been dissatisfied for some time in the tack the Fuzzy Crown Social Club had been heading. So much talk of procedural this or that. Elmer hearkened back to the gold old days when they would just meet up at Tom Bergin's Irish Bar, hoist a few back, and call it a night.


If Elmer were in charge the first thing he would do is tear up those damn bylaws. Who ever heard of bylaws for a 'social club'.
It seemed like a good idea at first, a social club; a place where they could all go, make plans, have events whatever they were supposed to be, and generally just have a place to go without having to drag the ladies along.

All was well and good for a while. They would get together, hoist a few, plan a fancy dinner at a restaurant, call it an event, invite the ladies and call it a night. But with any organization there is always someone who wants to be the leader and as soon as Cedrick took over the whole tone of the thing changed.





Who cared about the child molester who moved in down the street? So what the cops were beating on the kids. What did this have to a with their 'social club'?

Elmer let his attention wander out the window onto Fairfax. A group of people were exiting one of the local eateries. Three short men and a short woman pushing a pram. Elmer watched as they slowly made their way up the street. He could hear Cedrick prattle on but he could not hear the words. Who were these people thought Elmer. 'I wonder if those guys are in a social club?'

Cedrick made an emphatic point and the others all grunted in assent.

Elmer rejoined the meeting. 'How would they like it if I said we couldn't meet here anymore? That wouldn't be too hard to arrange. How would Cedrick handle that?'

The meeting was called to a close. They had decided to stage a march against the police, pass out flyers informing the neighborhood about the molester and have a swell dinner later in the month upstairs at Taylor's Steak House on eighth Street.

As they moved to the sidewalk Elmer made his move over to Cedrick.

Before Elmer could speak Cedrick grabbed him about the shoulders and looked deep into his eyes."Damn Elmer, I tell you we couldn't do any of this without your help. I hope you know how valuable you are to all of us, hell to the whole neighborhood."

Elmer looked down at his feet in what looked like a show of modesty. He really wanted to tell Cedrick what was on his mind.

Elmer looked to Cedrick. "Hey Ced, you think we can all go over to Tom Bergin's."

"Sure Elmer, remind me next time we meet,"

Can Futbal Players Really Where Pink And Black?

The Madam busted free from the Chrysalis the other eve. She wanted to rub-a-dub-dub and so to the Echo she went. But first a stop for Garnold to make her a hippy quesadilla at the Pasadam and after a quick smooch on the old grey Master she and Jang were off.



The Madam and Jang rolled back into ancient history. As far back as they would ever have hope to remember so as soon as the Madam's ass hit the passenger seat and the broken window Cherokee rolled east on Sunset, the reveling began. There was an ease between these two. Conversations started weeks before would die and then be reborn mid-sentence and then dropped again. They were second nature.

The Madam liked the Master and Jang liked the those with similar physical attributes as her own. This made for great fun and confusion whenever these two hit the town. The Madam was surely a flirt and was none to particular with who. Jang had a power to attract and if these two attacked the evening nary an adventurous night would go by without leaving a slew of frustrated bodies in their wake.

At Nayarit they ran into Masoid and the long line of stoned revelers quickly disappeared as they floated pass the bouncer crew into the spinning room. Low end, low end, oh how they spun and dived to the low end. On stage the D.J.s spun the roots, the sound of the shanty town, the surreptitious spliff smoke creeping through the crowd.

As the crowd flat lined into an 818-714, the Madam and Jang made their remove.

One more stop. Seattle had just transported a Tiki bar to Silverlake.


This was more like it. The Madam hooked up with the Palermo Kid and they slayed all comers at the Foosball table. As the Madam and P.K. destroyed Jang started to gather a new collection, a new harem of nubile girls. Soon there were two on either side of her at the bar. One seated to her left, the other to her right. Then two more standing before her.

Jang would capture these girls and most not of her ilk, nee persuasion. These new converts would flip ass over heels for Jang only to be rebuffed for whatever reason.

The Madam and P.K. suffered a surprising defeat and went over to Jang to lick their wounds. The Palermo Kid was struck by the coterie Jang had assembled. These were very fine ladies and P.K. might like to enjoy just one for himself. The Madam surveyed the scene and then pulled the Palermo Kid aside.

"This is what you do." The Madam said conspiratorially.

"All you need to do is stay close. One of these girls will fall for Jang, straight though she may be, she will fall for Jang because every girl falls for Jang. This girl will be crushed when Jang rejects her. The poor girl who only moments before had thrown over her heterosexulaity will now be in a raw and emotionally unstable state and in dire need of proof of the very orientation she had just assumed had been a lie."

The Palermo Kid looked dumbfounded as the Madam spoke but then the Eureka light shined and he summed up.

"So what you are saying is that some straight chick will fall for Jang and then all of the sudden be gay. Then when Jang shines her she will no longer be gay and be in need of a stallion to prove it."

"That is correct."

The Palermo Kid smiled at the Madam and whinnied his best Arabian Stallion equine mating call.



When the Madam returned to the Master she thought to relay the story to his sleeping form; but then thought better of it.

Does Vin Scully Know We Are Here?

The air had turned warm. They had rounded the corner and now barring any setbacks they would be leaving the dark confines of their cages until two more seasons had passed.

Rich looked over at Doug and relished the day. "Can you taste the smog, mmmmm good."

"You know me." Said Doug as he lit a cigarette. "I don't like to breathe anything I can't see."

There was a comfortable brown ceiling over Los Angeles that had been missing up until this day. The welcoming brown of the warm and hot months. The brown of smog fire sunsets and triple digit temperatures. The brown hue that signaled the unlayering of the clothes on the women.

Rich loved this time of year. For him at was the only time. During those dark short months he was, in his mind, just biding his time. Now it was so long to Winters long shadows and premature sunsets.


"You know Doug this reminds me of when I was fourteen and living in Venice. It was the best summer ever. There were these two girls who moved down the street, Toothy Buckington and Frida Freckler, or that was what we called them, you know one had sort of buck teeth and of course the other was freckle drenched."

The SUV slowed at the corner of Franklin and Bronson.

"There were five of us guys who would hang out at the beach all day and these two girls would blow us all. It was no doubt the greatest time of my life. There was no jealousy or maneuvering these two girls would happily have sex with any one of us. I mean right on the beach. We would go to one of our houses for sex but they would blow us right on the beach."

Doug looked over to Rich and gave him the nod and then the return volley. "That is so great. When I was fourteen my best friend was this kid named Rudy and Rudy's mom had this hot, well I remember her as hot anyways, friend who was probably thirty at the most. So my friend tells me that he had sex with his Mom's friend and I should try it. One day we were at his house and he says that I should go for it and I thought no way, I mean I'm fourteen and all but he said to go ahead. So while she was in the shower I just let myself in and she acted as if she had been waiting for me"

"Damn I love the warm months Doug."

"Say Rich, what are the odds of something like that happening to us this summer."

"Doug, to be fourteen again. To be fourteen."

I Can Hear Through Walls

"So they all know now. Somewhere deep inside me I knew that one day they would find out."

"It's a strange thing that denial I felt, as if there was not a soul on earth that was wise to what I was doing. I knew there were obvious physical signs that were hard to camouflage but no one really said too much about it. I just acted as if and as long as everyone benefited from my deeds then all was just jake."

"I wonder if anyone else has had to endure this kind of ostracism; I bet not. I really didn't do anything wrong."

"I wish I could turn the clock back. I want that time back. I could have done all this differently. Now they all want to offer their help, well now I don't want it. I created this and I will do what I want with it."

"A time will come in the very near future when I will prove that I am the best ever, the best at everything. If I were a soldier I would conquer the world. They say it is lonely at the top and maybe it is for some, for the weak, but not for me."

"I don't care about the rest of you. You just want to take from me. You just want to be near me so you can bask in the reflected glow of my glory, my achievement."



"I don't need any of you. You are not good enough for me.You'll see. They will remember me forever, they will forget about you."

"Leave me alone."

Larry didn't know what he was asking for when he eavesdropped on the inner thoughts of Barry Bonds.


.............................................................................................................................................................................................

Old Grey Beard Is Blowing His Cool

I retain the right to speak to occurrences in the world around me. 'Time is Tight' says Junior Walker and Satch said 'It's a Wonderful World'. I tell you Stan Mack time can really derail your day.

Bare with me.

Teens by the scads, teens being paid long stretch to act like... well... um... teens. All types of teens. The Strokes teen. The Interpol teen. The Brittany teen...and on and on and...

The Ad Execs. The hip Ad guys. Cool trainers, hoodies over forty. Nice watches. One almost Smith Bros. Cough Drops beard.

The show down. Nondescript teen to bearded ad agency guy.

"Hey, have you ever heard of Matisyahu, he's a Jewish rapper."

Ad guy. "I've heard of him, but haven't heard him."

Brain dead teen. "Well you look just like him."

No he didn't.

Ad guy. "Oh great I'm a Hassid rapper now."



Teen blank stare. "You look just like him."

Sometimes I Just Let It Slip Out

It's Me. I'm real. I am here in the computer. You are reading my thoughts.

This is a break from the norm. I know it is alot to ask of people to read. I know this blog thing is different than most, it isn't a diary or something simple to digest so today I will take a moment to thank those of you who take the time and trouble to follow and for your patience some...mindless drivel, some photos I like that didn't make the cut and generally a day off..


Oh, in case you haven't noticed, the weekly serial about Marty and Elaine is %100 true. I spent a year hiding in their house in order to report the deepest goings on in their relationship. Each Sunday another episode of' Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here?'


Saw this guy at the Clipper game. We used to sell him weed.




















And lastly, this surely was not a 'V for Vendetta' moment, but in today's world what is. Let's start with Clear Channel
















I'll be back with a strap-on tomorrow...

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part III

"What are you going to do with yourself today dear?"

Elaine looked every minute of her age in that harsh morning light but Marty couldn't see it. Marty could only see the ravishing chanteuse he first eyed oh so many years before. As they sat at the kitchen table his mind began, without prompting, to travel to another time.

Elaine moved across the smoky room. She didn't seem to be taking steps but simply gliding through the mass of sweat and satin. Every girl in the room was dressed as if ready to jump into a B Movie but not Elaine. Elaine floated above the rest and right now she was walking Marty's way. In his just knowing that she was heading towards him, Marty was filled with a feeling of invincibility.

Elaine came over to the bar but passed Marty by. As she passed she locked him with her eyes and just to prove her power she held his stare as she elbowed up to the bar a few dark hatted men away.

Marty could not look away and watched as she ordered her Martini. The dark hat to her side pulled out a fiver and covered her drink. Elaine tilted her head back and gave a little laugh to the gods and then took a demure sip. Then she looked at Marty.

Marty knew all to well that Elaine was different and Elaine was to be his and his alone. Elaine didn't know it yet but Marty was a musician too. He had big plans and now with Elaine at his side there would be no stopping him. In that moment while he leaned against that bar, as he leaned against a bar like so many of the bars he had leaned against in the past, Marty knew that his world had changed and would never be the same.

As she finished her drink Elaine stepped from the bar and again went to walk past Marty. As she passed him Marty reached out and in a not too gentle manner grabbed her arm and yanked her dramatically towards him. He had seen this work in a movie for Bogie and weren't all the men in this day patterning their manner after this noir hero or that. Marty sure was.

"Listen sister. I'm not just going to let you walk by me like that. I think you should stick right here for a minute. Got it."

Elaine tilted her head back and showed Marty a sly smile that barely exposed her perfect teeth.

"Oh a tough guy, huh. Listen kid you don't have to play tough with me. Stick around until after the set and I'll let you buy me a nightcap."

With that Elaine moved off and made her way to a place next to the piano that would have to pass for a bandstand. There was a little light on a stand that threw a spot onto Elaine and Marty thought he saw a halo.


Then she began to sing and Marty became transfixed. Her voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. She was magic made real, she was beyond his comprehension.

The rest of the world began to fade. The bar disappeared. The other patrons vanished. They were alone in this place.

Marty was transported at an ever increasing rate into the future. He saw them in front of the crowds, the faces staring at them adoringly and through all this Elaine. Travel, hotels, homes it all came at him in a blur.



It was if he were dying and his whole life were flashing before his eyes only this was a life he hadn't yet lived.

It all kept speeding up until...

"What are you going to do with yourself today dear?"

They Don't Molotov Like The Old Cocktail

He used to really like it. When he was a kid he could do it over and over. He used to love to look at the pictures.


There were so many possibilities.

So many different combinations.

He felt strong.

Life held so much promise for the future. He was emboldened by the prospect of what he might achieve, of what might transpire and with whom.

He loved to look at the pictures.

Lurid couplings, moments of lust and ecstasy frozen in time for all eternity. His hard-on was raging and all consuming. He was driven daily, hourly, moment to moment by blind desire.

As life continued he became comfortable. He achieved much of what he sought out. But now there was a problem.

He was flaccid, impotent. Not even the pictures would help.



Flail away as he might there would be no release.

There is no justice and altogether too much peace.

And Now You Can't Let It Go

Annie took a minute to herself. She opened the door of the dryer and put her arms in. Pulling out a mass of tangled clothes she held them tight to her chest and was lost in their radiated warmth.



















'Oh I do love this', she thought to herself. She placed the clothes on the top of the dryer and then went on to her favorite part of the ritual. She wasn't sure why but for as long as she cared to remember she had loved to clean the lint from the catch in the clothes dryer.

She would run a nail on the edge to catch a corner and start to peel it off the mesh screen. This warm and soft lint, not quite fabric not quite loose dust, its color shifting hues or solids, sometimes in layers like coats of old paint depending on the type of clothes being dried. She had seen where people had collected dryer lint over long periods and made objects, she thought that a little obsessive. She was happy to keep it part of her laundry chore ritual.

She pulled her little lace panties out and immediately scolded herself. 'Damn, there goes another pair. How did they sneak in? The elastic won't be any good now'. Panties were a waste to dry; they didn't have enough fabric to make lint and they were just so inconsequential.

Annie looked at her panties and she thought of Billy. 'I think I like Billy. It was really awesome hanging out with him yesterday. He was so nice on the bike ride and he looked cool on the hike in Runyon Canyon. He was so honest about everything'.

Annie thought she might want to get closer to Billy so she began to weigh the pros and cons of furthering their relationship.

'He's is cute, but then again that means he might be one of those I'm so hot dudes'.

'He's got a job, which is great I won't have to pay all the time, but that does make him a bit of a square.'

'He said he is prone to leaving skid marks in his chonies.'






Annie thought for a good long while. This could be the deal breaker. What could be worse than being in that moment, the one where she finally acquiesces to his most elemental desire and at go time she is confronted with skid marks and butt reek?

Annie thought hard and used all the loving guidance and logic she might muster. ' I can ask him to take a shower first.'

That solved the one problem.

Then it struck her. This was not a problem but a blessing. This could be the answer to a dilemma now only showing itself to the light of day.















'I know, I can wash his undies for him. That way I win in so many ways. I get Billy, I get more lint, and I no longer have to be jealous and look at my panties with disdain. I can freely accept my panties for what they are and embrace their lack of substance.'


Annie grabbed her clothes up off the dryer ran down the hall to her apartment and once inside flung the cooling clothes upon her bed.

She grabbed her cell phone and dialed.

Little Orphan Annie Could Sure Spit Some Truth

"Do all guys leave skid marks in their shorts?"

Whoa, where did that come from? He feigned a false modesty and then after a moment to collect himself and size up the situation he let flow.







"Well I couldn't answer for the rest of my fellows but I do think structurally it is somehow more probable that the stronger sex indeed is more likely to leave visible evidence in their shorts."

"Well do you think you could shave down there? Maybe that would help."

Billy wasn't sure if he wanted to answer to that specific point or if he might switch up the argument and attack. He was in a giving mood so he went with the former.

"Oh I don't know if I would go that far. I mean there were times when I would go traveling that I would give myself a courtesy road shave but I don't think it is really proper etiquette for a heterosexual man to pay such strict attention to the grooming of his ass hair."

"Why would you do it for the road but not when you are at home?"







"That's simple. It's all about access. On the road you never know where or when you are going to have a chance to actually...well... dump your load. It can get pretty messy. First there is the physical discomfort of the raw butt crack syndrome. A bad wipe gone south, pardon the pun, is on the road a terrible handicap. Add to that there is nothing ruder than running free with the smell of rank ass following your every step. At home you have access to water, most of the men I know won't poop unless they are sure that a shower is in the near offing."

"Wow... I didn't know that men gave it so much thought, I just figured that you were lazy and when the mood struck you just scratched and rubbed and whatever stuck to the cloth stuck. I didn't know that there was a protocol to keeping the gate clean."

Billy felt a new freedom and openness, it was refreshing debunking the myth of the modern male to the fairer sex. He felt he had her confidence and maybe now that they had spoken of such intimate matters the chance for romance might be enhanced. Maybe he should push on and dazzle her with a little scatological humor.

"I had to go to the doctor's the other day I was feeling dizzy."

"Really... are you okay?"

"I hope so. They wanted to run some tests. They said they wanted to get some blood, a urine sample, a stool sample and a semen sample... So I handed the nurse my underwear."











Oh its good to be back. Hello, hello, hello.

Not Since Gene Hackman In The Conversation

It is a conspiracy.

It is too focused and structured to be coincidence.

He wasn't sure if it was nefarious evil doing by secret dark forces or the simple fact that the moon was full and some from of lycanthropism manifested itself in his world in a completely non-traditional manner. The only thing abundantly clear to him was that upside down would have to make do for right side up as far as he was concerned.

Lights, black out, black out, black out.

It's dark when there are no pictures to go with the words.

Blindness was new to him. He had some experience with deafness, his cold had muted taste and smell. Now he could not share the pictures.

Its not my fault. Its not my fault.

Electricity is the enemy. The tumor cause. The divider. The separator.

Stone me in to the dark ages where we can be happy around the campfire.

I'm sorry this train has rolled off the tracks.

If all goes well with the help of my favorite uniped this should all be a horrible memory by the morrow.

Rotten Apples And Power Outages

The night went black and as she drunkenly tried to revive the apple he realized it was for naught.

It was to him like Black Monday. Now you see it, now you don't. Now its a machine, now its junk. The money comes and then it goes.

It may be a few days before there are any images to go along with these musings. I am tending to lean towards Mr. Gates, Mr. Jobs your equipment is suspect.

So Nestle Owns Arrowhead Spring Water

"What are you doing?"

"I'm working on an invention. My plan is to, over the next few years, segue out of the working class and into the ruling class and that takes scads of moolah."














"It sure does I was thinking the same thing, I want to be a property owner, you know basically have it so that my money works for me so I don't have to."

"I agree, I agree. I figured the days where I might make my fortune being a pro athlete or a mega rocker have, for all intents and purposes passed me by, so now I need to alter my plan; hence the inventing angle."

"Inventing that sounds like a pretty off the chart way to go about it."

"I know, the first thought I had was drug dealing, but that is so morally messy and dangerous that errrrrrrt...bad idea. I mean, I pretty much put the kibosh on any illegal activity and that sort closed out a lot of the real get rich quick scams that a guy like myself might pursue."

"What about gambling, that's for the most part legal now?"















"I kinda tried gambling. First off it takes a stake to get rolling then I started rolling in the wrong direction and then the depression and all that and really just fuck gambling."

"Oh sorry man."

"That's why inventing is for me."

"Well what are you going to invent."

"I thought about it all yesterday and this is what I came up with. Everyone has a cell phone now. Do you ever get a call that you don't know the number on the display and you trip whether to answer or not or take those pesky 'unknown caller' i.d.'s they're a real drag too."

"Yea they do suck."

"Okay now follow me on this. Remember on old school answering machines you could screen calls and then decide whether to pick up. You would listen along and when you were sure you knew who it was or if you knew the person and wanted to be sure what they wanted you could choose to pick up or not?"

"Oh hell yes."

"Well I'm inventing that for the cell phone."

"Shit."

"Shit is right. This is my ticket to the stars."

"How long until you get it all working?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not that square on electronics so I figure I'll work on it awhile and if I can't figure shit out myself I might just license the concept to all the major players, you know just collect residuals and the like."
















"Wow that really is the shit. I gotta think of an invention too."

"I don't see why everyone doesn't think of one."

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here? Part II

"I'm in here!" Marty shouted with a strange desperation as he reached and slammed the bathroom door to a close.

He looked in the mirror and tried his best to salvage what he could of last night's hairdo. Gravity was winning this morning and he didn't want Elaine to see him this way. It wasn't too long ago that he really didn't care how he looked around the house but of course that was before.


"Come on dear, I need to get in there. What are you doing?"

"Oh nothing I'm coming out right now."

Marty's helmet looked more like a knit cap so he wrapped a towel over his head and opened the door. Elaine passed by him with nary a glance, with a casualness that thirty-five years together breeds.

Marty watched her move past and give him a little shove out the door. "Coffee's already on, could you bring me a cup."



This wasn't a question. Marty had always taken great pride in getting her coffee. From their first days together Marty would play up how only he knew how his girl wanted her morning coffee. As he made his way downstairs this mission took on a severity that became oppressive. He couldn't mess this up. This was his domain. No new man could ever make her coffee the way he did.

As he entered the kitchen the telephone began to ring. He looked at the phone. Would he dare call her here at the home the two of them shared? Would he be so brazen? Perhaps if Marty answered the phone this shrewd bastard would pretend to make this call about business? 'Hey Marty do you think we could work up some new materiel?' That would be just like him trying to stir things up. Weren't things going swimmingly. Everyone loved the repertoire didn't they. The act had been playing just fine for all these years why should we change now. The ungrateful upstart.



Marty lifted the phone from the cradle. It was some crap about the L.A. Times Marty couldn't hear and he hung mumbling up.

He picked her favorite mug and set it on the counter. From the refrigerator he took some Almond Milk. She had started using this when the Nature Mart opened on Hillhurst all those years ago. He took her mug over to the sink and turned on the hot water. Feeling for the right temperature he placed the mug under the flow and waited as the hot water warmed the ceramics to perfection. He didn't want the cold mug and the cold Almond Milk to cool the coffee too much. Quickly he dried the cup with a clean dish towel and added the small amount of Almond Milk. The Almond Milk was sweet so the strong coffee would have no further need to be sweetened. He poured the coffee from high above the cup so the flow would act to blend the two beverages and therefore he need not dirty a clean spoon.

Marty looked intently at the coffee. This he could control. There was no doubt in his mind. He knew he could do this perfectly.

Making his way up the stairs he thought a million thoughts and none of them made sense. What new songs would they play?
What specials would there be on the menu? Should they stop driving and take taxis? Where were all these thoughts coming from.

Marty stood outside the bathroom door breathless. He tapped lightly as if afraid to disturb Elaine.

He tapped harder. "Yes dear..." Elaine sang from the other side.

"I..." Marty choked out. "I have your coffee."

"Oh honey, that's great but I'll come down and get it. Remember we have bagels too."

Marty stood outside the door. He had never really noticed the grain of the wood on the bathroom door before. It was so ordered.

"Alright dear." He said these words but had no idea where the strength to speak had come from.

He continued to stand there coffee in hand. He raised the cup to his lips and sipped the hot liquid.



She had toasted the bagels to perfection. As she leaned across the table to wipe the bit of cream cheese from his chin she smiled her smile.

Marty was frozen in terror.

There Aren't Any Rules Anymore Are There?

"It's been a long time since I've spoken to you. Was it the right time?"

"Well here comes a regular."















It hailed on Rosalia today. The ice came from on high and buffeted the roof of the stang and but for the Neu! blasting inside the sound was almost obscured.

"Am I the only one who feels ashamed."

There are no rules here. If I want to act out and be boring then act out I will. If I want to randomly throw out unattributed lyrics to songs then in the proper quotes I will.

"When the flowers wilt a big old quilt to keep us warm. I've got the sun to see your blue eyes, and tonight you're in my arms"

"And the chorus goes, and the chorus goes, and the chorus goes, blah, blah, blah, blah."

This isn't about me, but it is about me. Today I'm having a fire sale, today and today only I am speaking directly to you. I am doing this for today I have shit all to say.

Some of you say you like the words but why not better photography, others like the snaps but can't be bothered by the words, I guess there are too many of them.


Undaunted I will go on. Like the dog with the flat face from chasing parked cars I will persevere.

Tomorrow back to the yesterday. Part two of Marty and Elaine.

They Cancelled Today

He checked one last time before collapsing under the weight of the cold medicine.

















His luck...the fookers would get back up at nighty time. Technology is a gas in this town called malice.

It's Hard To Be A Saint at 7th & Hill

" I don't understand it. I think I'm the only one that doesn't have fantasies."

"I see. You are so unique, that you don't even have fantasies, oooh you're so cool."











"C'mon you know me better than that. I'm not trying to come off as some special freak, it's just that I really don't fantasize about things. I don't daydream, I don't long to own this or that, there is no imaginary girl that I think of when I... well...let's just say there is no imaginary girl and leave it at that."

"Surely you must dream at night."

"Oh I dream like a mad pig, but that is a whole different ball game. I can't control, or should I say usually I can't control my dreams they spring from the subconscious. I'm talking about the fact that I don't sit around in my waking hours and dwell on any thing that...well on anything."



"How about a job, do you fantasize about that special gig."

"No, I just want to make money, it doesn't count as a fantasy that I want to make the most amount of money with the least amount of work."

"Quick what do you want for Christmas?"

"Ummm...nothing really."

"Well think really hard what do you want. I mean really hard."














"Well..."

I Saw A Car I Want On Virgil

The radio just about cackled the news.

A bomb had ripped through Cartier Jewelers in Beverly Hills.

















This really was a mind spinning turn.

They looked at each other as he reached over and turned it up. There was excitement and some concern. She worked down the block. Nothing could have happened to her, she was too good for bad things to strike, he was convinced.

The safe had been blown wide open, there were no deaths but there were some minor injuries due to flying debris.

The steering wheel pulled to the right as if straining to hear the next bit of information.

More details as they become available. This would not suffice.

She must be contacted and so they called on the mobile.

Ring and ring. Options, leave a message, page, wait for forty seconds. They leave the message. They worry a bit.

Oh she'll be okay she's not the type to suffer ill favor.

So they drove west toward the sea, the Pacific, when it goes scary go towards the sea, always the sea.

The mobile sang.



"I am the collateral human damage. I'm at Cedars and the doctor is a friend of mine. Come pick me up I'll be released by the time you arrive."

They sped to the hospital, amazed that poor fortune had befallen her.

As they arrived they saw her out front already waiting. He opened the door and she slid gingerly onto the seat.

"Oooh, that stings a little."

"Well are you okay?"

"What happened." They harmonized.

"Yes I am fine and what happened is this. I was walking back from lunch when the bomb went off. I was out back in the alley and it was the most awful racket you ever heard. I didn't feel the explosion, no concussion or anything but I felt a burning in my ass cheek."

"Holy shit is that why you went to the doctor?"

"Well of course silly, geeze. So I go by ambulance, it was complete bedlam I can assure you, and I go and they x-ray me then I go to see the doctor and it was Gerry from the dog park."

"Oh I know that dude."

"Well great you know him too. So Gerry tells me that I got hit with three pieces of what were in essence shrapnel, and that due to my, how did he say it...'ample form', they didn't do any real damage and that he would be able to easily extract them."

"I knew you would be okay, I have so much faith in you."

"So it was odd he sends the nurse out and he has me lay on my stomach."

"Oh don't tell me."

"No, no. Nothing like that at all. He gives me a shot of novacaine and I can feel him dig around, no pain but pressure, and then the plink, plink, plink as he places the pieces of shrapnel on the metal tray."











"Phew."

"Well that's not all. Then Gerry asks me if I want to keep the shrapnel for a souvenir, and I say why not. 'This is our little secret' he says and then hands me this."

In her palm rested three diamonds so large and brilliant that in any other context they would have had to be zarconia.

"Wow." They chorused once more.

She looked at the diamonds and then at her smiling friends..." Well we all have to work for a living now don't we...?"

Couldn't They Just Mix It In Dubbly

"Well you should know better you're a smart guy."












He had heard this reasoning, this pro forma argument, for the most part of his life but it never rang so empty as it did that night.

"Yeah, knowing that should sure fix it, don't cha think?"

The Porsche handled the rain slicked streets better than any car had a right to.

"Don't think that I am in any way criticizing you, I mean talk about casting stones and glass houses and any other skidmore you want to throw in the mix, I'm just saying that you're pretty fucking smart, so perhaps you might have learned to deal with this shit a little better that's all."

"I think I have to disagree with you, I'm not that smart."













"Uh, yea right, that's some false modesty bullshit you're trying to pass off."

"No I truly believe this. I think there is a difference between smart and clever. Why I am as a clever as they come but smart I don't think so."

"Smart, clever... you fucking read too much."

There was an accident at Beverly and Rampart. He thought about a Tommy's burger but they were late and food could wait. Food could always wait.

"No really I believe this. You can be clever and not be smart, you can be smart and not clever. Being smart means you have an ability to learn, to store knowledge for recall. Clever means you can think on the fly. I mean one is not mutually exclusive of the other but the two can exist independently of the other and I think that I am just a moderately clever."



"That might explain things."

"It's not that big of a deal. I only wish I had known this my whole life...
... I might have gone a little bit easier on myself."

You Can't Take Pictures In Here

Again the clouds came to conquer. Vanquished, the blue sky ran for cover, hid like a coward.














The people below looked heavenward and cursed this latest display. There was a blanket of defeat over the land and on dark days like this it seemed as if it would always be this way.

There were a few below who prayed that hopefully that the blue sky might be somewhere strategic, regrouping, planning for a successful attack on another day.

There was some small group of misanthropes who actually preferred to live amongst this gloom. There were steers in the chute and chickens laying midnight eggs.

There too was one old man who wasn't swayed one way or another. He had lived for eons and had seen it all or so he said. Choking back the last of his wheatgrass, the old man looked to the counter girl.

"So you say this tomato was grown in the hothouse."

The counter girl sucked on her lip ring and smiled.

"Young lady you are today's tomato and I would love to see your hothouse."

The old man was so aged that the counter girl gave him a pass.

"You are sweet for saying so. I sure hate it when its cloudy like this don't you."

The old man looked out the window and then back to the girl.















"It isn't cloudy today, the world just has a varied palette and today it is muted. Like the mother asked to choose which of her children she likes best, well they all have their own special qualities."

"I guess so." Then in a somewhat conspiratorial tone she added. "I'm pro-choice."

Hey Didn't They Film Swingers Here?

Marty walked by paying very little or no notice to the couple seated that close at the banquet. He had been playing this gig at the ageless Los Feliz restaurant with his lady Elaine for how many years now he couldn't remember but was never the less always reminded.














His hair stood firm in a midnight black helmet, dyed into the present, and looking for all appearances as if a jet ready for take off.

He didn't take time to smell the pork chops sitting before the young man. He didn't notice the heavily garlic'd linguini, or the bread also soaked through with that pungent and bulbous herb.

Marty had a mission and as he moved from the dining room into the lounge his purpose became clear.

For years and years he and his lady Elaine had performed standards for a thirsty crowd of fairly straights, all too pleased to shuck and jive for a group of near metros, here at this lounge, Marty and Elaine were the stars, the main attraction.

Each night they would play the songs of an era past for people trying to remember a time they never knew. It was what he knew and he knew it to be right.

For as long as he cared to remember he sat behind his drums as his sweet woman Elaine played her piano and not unlike a song bird filled the air with sweet melody.















But these were different days. There was a an intruder into his perfect set up. It seems management thought it would be a good idea to add a bass player and even worse a young, handsome, stand-up bass player.

During 'Fly Me To The Moon', had Elaine been looking at the bass player and not him as she used to?

Were those smiles directed to him being short stopped by this new young third wheel.

This evening Marty played his drums with a renewed vigor. He would show this upstart how a real man handled his business.

Marty scanned the crowd of drunken smiling faces, everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves and Elaine was in rare form.

Marty looked for some sign of recognition, couldn't anyone else see what was happening here, weren't they aware of this dark threat, this assault on his world being perpetrated by the new kid bass player.

A bead of sweat formed on Marty's brow and then fell landing on his snare.

The night wore on and the people came and went. As closing time neared Elaine dedicated 'I've Got You Under my Skin', to Marty. Tonight her words rang hollow.

As they rode home Elaine sat quietly. They entered the house and began to ready for bed.

As Marty switched off the light Elaine spoke her last words before sleep...

"I have bagels for the morning."

Marty barely slept at all.

Its Like Riding A Bike Isn't It?

"Excuse me, did you say something."

"Humpf, humpf, humpf, humpf..."
















"Oh I suppose you think you're being really smart with that mouth now don't you?"

"Humpf, humpf, humpf, humpf..."

"Four grown men and that is all you can say for yourselves?"

"Humpf, humpf, humpf, humpf..."

"Oh I get it, it's some sort of conceptual art piece, right?"

"Humpf, humpf, humpf, humpf..."

"Listen fellas Chris Burden you are not."

"Humpf, humpf, humpf, humpf..."











"Well Mr.'s Humpf, collectively you can fuck yourselves."

The four grown men looked at each other and for a moment felt their core belief systems challenged.

The tall blond one went to open his mouth...

"Humpf..."

Then as if in some strange reaffirmation in turn the three others sang forth...

"Humpf."

"Humpf."

"Humpf."

Don't Forget To Sweep The Sidewalk

"So what do you think of the parking on the block?" said his neighbor Chris as they sat dining alfresco at the little diner on Sunset Blvd.

"I think it is great, I try to tell people not to park there because I hate to see them get tickets but when I come home and there is a parking spot, then I am more than for permit parking."

"So do you know how Sahmir is doing?"

He wanted to be polite so he played along but for the life of him he couldn't think as to who Sahmir was.

"Do you know if he is getting better?"

Well no he didn't, in fact he didn't know anything, actually he had very little idea what Chris was on about.

"Miles says that he is getting better."

The first clue and it all became clear. He had, as a lark, worked as a doorman at an uber trendy Hollywood bar but just the two times and this guy Sahmir had owned the joint.
















Chris must have concluded that he actually knew Sahmir, thinking perhaps that he was the regular door guy, perhaps Chris had only made two trips to the bar coincidentally the same nights he had been working.

So it seems that Sahmir had moved to the door to relieve the regular doorguy, some kid tried to leave the bar drink in hand.


The story goes Sahmir asked nice, the reality will never be known, but the kid took that small request as an invitation to smash the glass into Sahmir's face. Something about an eye hanging, skin flapping to the bone, major artery severed. Not many good times associated with all this.

The kid disappeared into the night. The local coke dealer wanted to send out a hanging posse, seems that the dealer had already done 187 time and this was no idle boast, yikes.

The next time Miles calls to ask him if he wants to work the door he might take a little less time, than times in the past, before he with all due respect, regretfully declines.

Eggy The Dog Barks At The Neighbor

The rental van was broken. There was no avoiding it now.














The transmission was out and there was no way to get it out of reverse.

The road was flat and the van began to pick up velocity.

It seems the accelerator was not in the all together either. The scenery rushed up from behind at an ever increasing rate.

The pedals would not respond to any action as if in one of those dreams where you can't run or shout.

As with all good stories survival is at a premium lest the teller not live to tell the tale.

The hill was perfectly placed and talk about timely... just as the van ran out of gas.

The coffee was strong and hot.

He read where the Clippers set a record holding New Orleans to 16 points in a half.












Without any help the calendar turned once more.

They Charge Extra For Tahini

It was the greatest thing. As Richard sat with Zanku the Chicken King finishing their Lamb Gyro sandwiches an apparition floated up Vermont Avenue. It was so joyous a sight that as the two conservative guys in the blue matching outfits passed, Richard was compelled as if he had a case of Tourette's Syndrome...
















"Hey are you guys in a rock band?"

"No we are Scientologists." They pronounced without the slightest trepidation or reserve.

Zanku the Chicken King held his ground not responding one way or the other, but for once Richard felt an odd warmness and joviality towards this matched pair.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Well actually we are practicing taking surveys, would you mind if we asked you some questions?"

"Why certainly not."

This was the longest Richard had ever gone without tearing into the Scientologists about the Spaceships, the e-meters, L. Ron and the like. Today he would be on his nicest behavior, heck he was having fun being civil.

The Bobsytologists began their intense questioning.

"Number one...what kind of music do you like?"

The Chicken King got excited...

"I know the answer to this one its new age, right?"












"That's fine...question number two...do you like Coke or Pepsi."

"Coke" spat Richard

"Pepsi" fired the Chicken King.

"Pepsi" countered Richard

"Coke dammit" crowed the Chicken King

The two 'tologists were confused but undaunted.

"Alright that's okay...question three...what was the first thing you noticed about us."

"That's easy." Zanku proclaimed.

"As you walked up the street it was your bitchen matching sweater and tie ensembles but standing here I see you have a rad nosehair just dominating like crazy."

The one with the glasses rubbed his nose.

"No the other side." Corrected the Chicken King










"I know, I know." The Scientologist said as he rubbed the straight black hair that jutted forth from his snout.

"You know usually I give it to you guys real good about all that Sci-Fi hoo-haw you guys have to believe in, I mean it is the main part of the whole magillicutty, isn't it? " Richard said calmly moving the conversation past the topic of the errant nose hair. " But I have to admit that this the longest I have ever gone without bringing up how you are a religion but charge large sums of money. "




"Well we need to eat and have places to live, so we need to support ourselves, I mean everyone needs to make a living. I think you can take a beginner class for only about forty dollars." The nose hair 'tologist retorted with calm assurance.

"Yea, but what about the rich folks at the Celebrity Center living the high life and the worker bees housed down on Selma and Wilcox in those slum tenements I mean..."

The Scientologists began to rock back and forth in unison.

Richard knew it was wrong but he couldn't help but to fire away.

"and what about the Cult Awareness Network...sued into bankruptcy then purchased by Scientology..."

The two twinsy surveyors listened to this last salvo with their backs as they shuffled north up Vermont.













"They were nice", opined Zanku the Chicken King.

"I wasn't", Richard said as his face splintered into an uncontrollable smile.