Your dog bit me (So, lets have sex.)

There I was, minding my own business and bam! Out of nowhere she is suddenly in my grill. 

“Get off my lawn! OMG! Are you pissing on my bushes?? I’m calling the cops.” The little Shitzu was yelping at my feet and trying to smell my pee. I shook, repackaged and zipped up.

Me extending hand: “Your quite attractive. You really don’t need the dog as a conversation starter. I say drop him off west of 9th street. My names Narcissus. Didn’t catch yours.”

You snorted thru your nose. “Are you kidding me? Get off my.... Yes, hello, 911? I have an intruder. On my lawn. What? Hold? No I will not hold. I’m a six figure salary white women!!” 

Six figures got my attention. “Well that explains the SUV, Romney decals and the annoying Shitzu. Way to use your girl power to be original.”

“His name is bankster, and I will have you know that I busted my ass for all this and I sure as hell didn’t do it so vagrants like you could just piss all over it!” 

“You busted your ass all right and for longer hours with less pay. The system won. You think its about equality sister? Try labor costs. You sacrificed family so they could get you cheaper. And you think thats progress? Divorce, bad parenting, Ambien addiction...Of course the bright side is bad parenting is responsible for 90% of my dates.” 

“Hello? Yes. A man exposed himself on my lawn. And is still here. Send everyone.”

“Now thats a stretch. A little wee wee after too much drinking is all. I mean the urine was a little. Not my wee wee. Thats not little. But you already know that. Starring pretty hard too I noticed...” A wink, a nod and a trigger finger gesture, for effect

“You. You bastard. You drunken deviant hipster...”

 I interrupted and took a step towards her. “Hipster? How dare you! Lets dispense with the foreplay. I think you are secretly hoping I take your capitalist MILF ass round back and bang the Fox and Friends-rapture-Jesus right out of your vagina hole. Am I right?” I gave a thumbs up to the Shitzu. The faint but all too familiar whine of sirens drifted into my frontal cortex. 

You seemed to fall backwards and as you did so released the 8 ounce hound - who promptly bit me. I know this because it was stuck to my sneaker by, what I assumed must be, the teeth. A minor inconvenience. You scuttled up the many steps and slammed the door.

So, I checked myself out in the mirror of the SUV (never looked better!) and made my way down the street. I shook the dog off 3 houses down. We bail you and your banker friends out and this is the thanks we get? Geesh. Yea, your welcome.

N.

Caught in the rain (Revis)

I was caught in the rain, wasting my time on the ground.

Trading thoughts - across the room - you were surrounded. But it was you who could get me high. I slipped my backpack off and cooly assembled my lonely gear. 

Laptop. Cord. Coffee. I pretended to check my cell for texts but as I already knew, there were none.

I lingered. As if reading something profound. And I continued the charade of deep thought in order to give an impression and to not appear as looking to see who was looking. 

That would be desperate and pathetic.

When our eyes did meet a small cosmic waved rolled through me. You were looking over his shoulder. His back to me. Your wandering gaze telegraphed to me like the frantic morse code of a shipwrecked survivor. Or that part in horror movies when they try to grab a phone instead of making a run for the door. Its over before it has begun.

Still, its like a mutual acknowledgment. If we were in different circumstances, this might get interesting. I remove my jacket which allows you to preview my tattoos. The one on my right upper arm seems to get your attention whenever you can sneek a peek. I chuckle into my go juice. 

The laptop fans wisp and hum as pirated data streams and clogs up the processor. At 60 degrees the 2nd fan kicks on and several non vital programs are suspended to lighten the load. All of this in nano seconds. Intervals of time that are imperceptible to humans. Much like the rain changing to snow. Much like your potential filled gaze changes to walking out the door, hand in hand with the man whose back I saw. It all just was... and then it wasn’t. Echo used to tell me stuff like that all the time. 

N.

Under the black flag (ahoy me pirates)

The heroes you should be following...

The heresy of Napster has become the orthodoxy of Spotify.

I.

As rebels against a social order that is oppressing them, those who turn to piracy are critiquing the economic and political systems that have seen them disenfranchised. It was precisely in the emerging capitalism of the 17th and 18th centuries – in the golden age of exploration, where empires fought to expand their dominions and wealth by exploiting colonies – that we saw the golden age of piracy too. Fed up with making greedy princes and merchants rich through plunder, they decided to rob from the plunderers.

II.

Somali piracy can be read in this light too, and one interesting episode is worth noting. The French luxury yacht Le Ponant was captured in 2008 by a group of pirates. 

Le Ponant was the picture of the good life: a mixed crew of young men and women, sailing a fabulously luxurious boat to the Med to pick up passengers – with a good chef and plenty of wine on board. When captured, the crew hid the women of the boat in the bows, but, unable to last out they emerged after a few days. 

The pirates were furious, as William Langewiesche described in his article for Vanity Fair: (http://tinyurl.com/ahrmsq)

“We do not touch women! We want money!” Referring to himself and his men, he said, “Robbers! Not terrorists!” Ahmed escorted the group aft to the luxurious lower lounge, where he ordered that the women be provided with water and food. When the water arrived, he sent it back for being lukewarm.

III.

Further, the supposedly picture-perfect scene that the pirates had disturbed was not quite what it seemed. Le Ponant was registered in the far-flung French protectorate of Wallis and Fatuna. This meant that they could fly the French flag – very nice for the tourists – but didn’t have to abide by any French employment or tax laws. As Langewieshe describes conditions for the crew:

The wages were low, the hours were long, and no retirement benefits were provided. During rotations ashore there were no wages at all. These terms were non-negotiable. They stemmed from the culture of a global shipping industry which over the past 60 years has pursued profit and efficiency in part by ridding itself of labor unions, and more fundamentally by freeing itself from the constraints of the nation-state and its laws.

So, although they initially feared for their lives when attacked, one could say that the crew were in some respects more free during that time of occupation than they were under the oppressive regime of their employers. For those of you who enjoy eating paint, I’m saying the crew were treated better by the pirates than their bosses. A tough sell, sure but either way, this leads us to a clue about why pirates remain so fascinating to us and threatening to the powers that be: they offer us a life that is more free.

IV.

The pirate life was a short one by all accounts, but it at least had the advantage of liberty – and merriment. For those living in the shadow of St Paul’s cathedral in 1741 London, reading Captain Johnson’s bawdy book on pirate exploits was an escape from the drudgery of their pretty grim lives. Working like dogs, with the twin powers of the merchants and the priesthood ready to pounce of them if they stepped out of line, here was a breath of fresh air – a short and merry life by proxy. Pirates enthrall us in the same way. 

For those aboard the naval ships. Piracy provided the first glimpse of freedom, equality and notoriety. Women, slaves, handicapped and children could now be seen as equals and live (albeit short) lives of dignity. 

V.

The history of pirates that you have been taught has been written by their powerful victims and eventual conquerers. Its high time mate-tees that you sail away from the safe and corrupt and back into the dangerous high seas. Pirates are the logical and inevitable extension of controlled commerce; extremely skilled, and often navigated the shipping lanes with more knowledge and flexibility than even the military.  They worked for themselves, or they worked for the state, as the situation arose.

In the new world order, shipping is the internet; the goods are data. Just ask Napster and Anonymous.

N.

Kristy McNichol... (Say it isn't so)

Kristy McNichol. Famous child/teen actor and object of my early formative coming of age years. Why? Why baby why?

I first saw you in 1977 in a ABC After school special. You were in a halter top. While I was still too young to sport wood, I was instantly in love with you and halter tops and have remained so over these many years.

Oh, how I used to spank it raw with you. Your smiling face filling my parents floor unit, furniture sized television. These were the days when cable was still new and my father almost beat me to death once when I spun the dial too fast changing the channel for him. Yes, we were living remote controls.

But all that went away when you came on screen my little 5’-3” goddess. I learned how NOT to use my mothers shampoo and conditioner for yanking as it burns the urethra. Indeed, we shared that milestone moment. I humped pillows, mattresses, box springs, socks, couches, cushions and teddy bears. All in your honor and as practice so that when I did finally enter you, I would be good at it. Experienced. Suave. 

Sure, its been years since the last time I ground one out for you. And yes, I admit in 1983 I cheated on you with Barbara Edwards. In my defense I had just discovered playboy and she was playmate of the year. Dammit, playmate of the year! What was a young boy to do? Yes, I ruined an entire set of my mothers decorative towels on her but she meant nothing to me. Nothing! It’s you I loved.

Besides, after “The night the lights went out in Georgia” your drug habit took over and the movie career tanked. 

I waited as long as I could. Right up til 1984 when the neighbor girl turned horny and needed someone to practice on. I learned more about mono than I did sex from her but alas, that was the end of us.

I should have waited for you. I know, I’m slime. Lower than slime. And I knew I was to blame when I read that you had recently come out as a Lesbian. I get that. You waited as long as you could for me as well. And if you couldn’t have me, well, there just wasn’t any point in having dick at all.

I’ll never forget those early innocent, awkward, silly days we shared together. 

N.

Hypatia (Alexandria)

You: Wheel chair bound. Missing a leg. Cute. Me: Horny.

You called me David even though my name isn't David nor does it sound like David. You kept saying I reminded you of a guy who slept with your sister but whom you forgave when they bought you a new, hallowed out prosthetic leg that you could keep your booze in. 
You asked me several times, quite loudly I might add, if still had that weird mole next to my ball sack and does it still burn when I pee.

I for my part exclaimed that I didn't know you but considered that a great loss. In a world full of women who all jam to the same crappy three songs, all redone and rereleased as new every 6 months or so, you were a gem. 
In town of spectators, you at least were playing and playing as if it mattered. You said you didn't understand a word I said but presumed it to be a compliment. You wondered aloud if I did anything useful with the long arrogant sentences I spoke in. 
I was most curious if you like to be beaten with the leg while taking it doggie. We both were serious and we laughed as others nearby scooted further away. 

The bus driver interrupted our chat with a hard stop and dull announcement. "6th and Jefferson". A soda can rattled across the floor as people shifted out of the bus, including you. 

"Goodbye David. Try not to think so much. Live a little. We go round the sun not vice versa. And get some antibiotics for the drippy dick."

I laughed thru my nose and watched you wheel yourself away.

N.

Sun Tan Shitty (Always about the brown and green)

I rolled into the Sun Tan City for one purpose and one purpose only. And no, It wasn't for the heat lamps. I'm naturally dark skinned. It was to finish what I started. 

The warm weather on Saturday had me enjoying a little cruising in the Honda. We made eye contact in the parking lot and your smirk said enough to fill a Grisham novel. So I turned around and pulled in behind you at the tanning salon. As you locked your door and juggled your phone and purse you shot me another look. The smirk was gone. Replaced now with a smile. Genuine and hypnotic. I was under your spell. You added further temptation by shaking your cute ass in the tight leggings that leave little to imagine. And of course the boots. 

I'm not a stalker so I wrote down your license just in case we lost each other before following you into what can only be described as the mecca for white girls who want to be mexican without the machismó. Next census will have a orange category for race.

Your backward glance had my UV bulb protruding and you asked for your normal booth which quite accurately was called the 'melanoma'. A stand up unit. I had no idea they made such things. I quickly came up your rear.

Turning, you yanked down my pants and asked how much I wanted to spend. Spend? I asked if you were a hooker and you quickly corrected me with, "No, an escort. So whats it gonna be?" You popped one of my balls out of your mouth like a gobstopper. 

"I have $20."

"$20? Shit." She dropped my erect fluorescent ballast and stood. "You can play with my ass for $20. Just don't touch my asshole."

Which I immediately understood as exactly what I should do. So after several seconds of caressing her lumps I plunged my long middle finger as far as I could into her pristine bunghole. Even gave a twist.

In retrospect, I should have considered that it was well past lunchtime. Yea, hindsight is 20/20. Because what followed her shriek was a 160 watt explosion of shit. I jumped back crashing bulbs and glass as a shit storm of tornadic brown covered everything. 
I crawled backwards into the lobby as you cursed and broke even more glass. Bulbs were popping like fireworks and bronze women were running in every direction and covering their mouths. A solarium nightmare. 

It was then that I realized I still had my $20. Fuckin A! I casually walked to the honda. Not a drop on me. It's good to be me.

But I feel bad. Really, I'm tore up over the fact that you didn't get my name or number. I was gonna write it on the $20 but, well, never mind that. How about when your lacerations heal you hit me up? Same place? Lets meet BEFORE eating, yes?

N.

Black Maria (Someones at the door)

We met in the paddy wagon. You were complaining about your zip cuffs being to tight. I told you how to sit to ease the pressure and you thanked me. The goosebumps on your smooth long legs called to me. The house we were partying in was raided just as things were getting good. By good I mean, no one was assaulting me or asking me to leave, yet. Then the front door went down and so did my boner. Anyway, you smelled delicious. Probably a Neutrogena moisturizer. Simply splendid. You were not in the booking cell long, most likely due to no priors and your wealthy white parents. But I'll pretend not to notice though. I'm just now smelling fresh air. People have no idea just how rank jails smell. 

I can hear you onlookers say, 'so don't go there'. Right. Because you are so holy and righteous. Truth is, you just haven't been caught yet and the system, looking a lot like you, hasn't noticed you. Yet. So lecture me when you have the sack to step out from the herd and live a little. As for my zipped tied goddess, I roam now incomplete and dazed, awaiting the strike of lightning once more.

N.

North versus South (Passing lane)

I know this is a long shot but hey, its worth a try.

You were traveling southbound I-65.

I was traveling Northbound.

And even though we passed each other at 60+ miles per hour, I'm pretty sure I felt a connection. I realize that on top of driving, it appeared that you were also texting with the left and adjusting your hair with the right. 
Ambidextrous. I like that. 

It's a small miracle you haven't killed anyone yet or you just truly have no recollection of numerous hit and runs.
Either way I'm drawn to you. Like a moth to flame. Like heartburn to pizza roll. Like a redneck to cheese wiz. 

I couldn't make out your car model or license in the rear view because, well, that fell off years ago and they are a real bugger getting to stay back on. 
Plus the whole, opposite direction on a major thruway thing.

Text me with your free hand when you can gorgeous. I was the car with several LMPD vehicles chasing it. 
Kinda hard to miss, unless that is you were texting, changing ipod songs, fixing hair, downloading apps and telling the world about it on FB at 60mph.

N. 

You were in line behind me (when this went down)

What do you mean this receipt isn’t correct? YOUR store gave me this receipt. This is the piece of paper your Hal 9000 machine spit out along with the coupon, gift receipt and several miles of advertising connected to this here proof of sale...

Well how is that my fault? I mean I was being herded like cattle and I assumed your highly paid for and programmed attack drones gave me the correct receipt. For gods sake I saw the thing print out. How could it have been the wrong one? I don’t know, do I look like Bill Nye the science fucking guy?

Thanks but I don’t want to go to the back room and discuss this. How about I cordially and sincerely invite you to go fuck yourself. Is that clear enough?

Oh, I beg to differ. You WILL honor this receipt and you WILL refund my unhappy ass you overly polite sphincter wagon.

Call them! I’m not leaving this here spot. Tell me I have the wrong receipt. Talking all crazy about can’t help me. Sign says customer service. Mission statement plaque talking all about quality is important. I will straight up go white person beserker on your chinese sweat shop!

What was that? You can prove my receipt is wrong? I’d like to see that. I’d like for someone in this god forsaken commie store to attempt a useful and worthwhile task. I’m all ears. 

Yes, I see the big, store logo at the top of the receipt... Whats your point? What do you mean the sign hanging from the front of the building doesn’t match the logo on my receipt? How can that be?? Seriously, who is running this popsicle stand?

Hello officer, arrest this man here for assaulting me with idiocy and also... I’m in the wrong store? How about your in the wrong store. You need to be where the donuts are.

I don’t think I’m funny Barney, I know I’m funny. Oh snap. Get your cell phone cameras out people. Taser deployed. Taser deployed.

I can’t wait to sue both of your incompetent.. gfhjlafl4vbNV9t[g13nv

N.

Give evil a try (Go on...)

Your career is at a really tough crossroads here. You know the employment numbers as well as I do. They're bad, and they're not getting better. If you're going to survive you have to start thinking broadly. Stop missing connections. Explore all the options out there. Make some changes. I think you should consider giving Evil a try.

Now, Evil is a lot like Accounting. It's not always everyone's first career choice. But as an industry it's solid. The growth potential is huge. I mean, it's Evil. It's got tie-ins with practically every type of business you can name. Because Evil is all about synergy. And synergy is all about Evil.

You don't need special training. You don't need an advanced degree. The entry-level possibilities are right there, and you can pick up plenty of training on the job. That's the beauty of Evil. No one at your job is going to try to stop you from doing as much Evil as you can. They want you to do more of it, and that leads to better prospects. Which lead to more Evil. And so on.

I know, I know. You want to stick with Good. Hey, Good's great. But every craigs-lister out here wants to do Good. Or they say they do. But how many stick it out and actually make a living at it? Look at this way, you'll always be able to do Good in your spare time. You'll have Good to fall back on, sure. But Evil is where the money is.

Maybe you want to try Moral Ambivalence. Fine. But you know you're just going to end up trying Evil eventually, only you won't be as skilled at it. Why not just dive in and commit yourself to Evil right now? You're not getting younger. You only have so many years left for a real career. That career is in Evil. You know this. It's time. I think Evil could be a really great move for you.

N.