Friday, August 15, 2003
Some of the major moves in my life, that have got me where I am today (whoop de frikken doo, sitting behind this desk like a goddamm fukn robot and doing the herky jerky at half past 72) have been due to the need for a change of scenery.
Berkeley? Yeah I wanted to get the best public education available, but also it was basically get me the fuk out of LA.
Hawaii? Yeah I wanted to get all tropical and shit and like worship volcanos and live out a tiki dream but basically it was, once again, get me the fuk out of LA.
And now, like that old Neil Diamond song where he talks about how “LA is laid back, but I keep thinking about making my way back” to NYC, well sometimes I catch myself thinking about making my way back. Back to cali. Booze, bitches, billiards, blimps, brigadoons, and backstabbing buttcracking bastard biters of boatpeople’s bloated beehives of badass boondocks. Or some random ass dogshit like that.
You must know, or probably don’t, that whenever I get indecipherable up in this thang it’s totally a fukn defense mechanism. You know, like, if I make it vague and only I know whut I’m talking about, and you, the hidden audience, the horror stricken masses, don’t know whut the fuk I’m talking about, then it didn’t really happen. It hasn’t been solidified yet.
Fuk I don’t know. I’ve been struggling with this crap ass crapsterpiece for going on 83 parsecs, cap’n, and we’re losing juice in the flux capacitor, like, big time. I’m juggling all these like ideas on where to be and the roadmap to buggerville. Learn French and move to paris, train as a mime and shut the fuk up and sit in an invisible box. Start taking roids and beef up and be the next fukn whatever the fuck you call it and take over bollywood, learn hindu, slap hoes, eat all kinds of strange bratwurst soups, look out the window at the pentagon and realize, shit I took over this game.
I have the damn right to spit random thoughts, doubts, insecurities, etcetera, and not be quoted on it later. I can say, fuk Hawaii, I’m over it, now, and then tomorrow, be like, I will die on this island with a big ol shit eating grin on my face surrounded by hapa haole Mexican children and a fukn tsunami comin in just off the radar to wipe us all out but thank god I’m a fantastic swimmer & so is Mrs. P and our children will be brought up in the water and will float over to rabbit island and we’ll start a new society when these random portagee children show up on the island, the only other people in the pacific left after the devastation, and these children will intermingle with our children, start a new society and I will be named the high chieftan of pennyworthville, the official center of all that is sanctioned and proper in the Micronesian precinct.
Or maybe I’ll just go home & eat a goddamm fukn chili dog.