I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Friday, November 25, 2005
Miyagi Walks...
Girlfriend's talking to me about shopping sales.
I'm pretending to listen.
I think that I was going to talk about Captain America, Hitler, The Red Skull and Kanye West.
The Red Skull hates black people.
Today in almost-gonna-take-a-nap-before-work shift-no.2-world, I was nippy-eyeing a gossamer image of Mike Myers on the television and realized how uncomfortable he must've felt during the Hurricane Katrina telethon. Even though Kanye was wearing his heart in his vocal chords - and even though I loved that he was speaking the truth - it was still fucking funny. Too bad I never came up with the idea of being Kanye West and a friend being Mike Myers for Halloween. All we'd do all night is just stand by the keg at parties and play out that bit. I'd stutter, "George Bush hates black people" as Jocks would try to elbow me out of the way to get to the keg tap.
"George Bush hates black people."
Girl would ask me what I was supposed to be for Halloween.
"George Bush hates black people."
Host of the party would punch me in the face for sleeping with his girlfriend.
"George Bush hates black people."
Cops would show up.
"George Bush hates black people."
Puking afterwards.
"George Bush hates black people."
Why don't I have a keychain thingy that says, "George Bush hates black people?"
Napoleon Dynamite? Feh! Kanye West, baby!
That or Pat Morita.
"Pat Morita hates black people."
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