Looking at You in Your Shorts

It is five o'clock on a hot and windy spring afternoon that feels like a morning, and he'd just woken up. The air is warm from the day's heat and there is absolutely nothing wrong on Meadows Ave.
Stretching, wiggling his toes at the cats and dogs swarming toward him in the united enthusiasm of greeting an old friend, he stands on the stone steps and sniffs the garden.

"I remember when I had to get up ten hours ago" he says, standing majestically, cup of coffee in the left and an imaginary cigarette in the right.
"I remember when you used to do something productive." His friend, the one that had woken him up with cat's tails and sun light, sits reluctantly on a wobbly camp chair, kicking at one of them trying to claw his legs.

He smiles out into the distance, takes a sip, and muses, "Ah, the good old days." Sigh.
"I just remember old days."
"You've grown into a cynical, cynical man."
"Dude, I clearly remember being pissed off about a lot of things back then."
"That's because you're a failure." Grins.
"You should put some shoes on."
"You should put your face on. Haaa."
"And maybe a shirt."

He scratches his belly lazily. "I prefer not to."
"As much as I am sure the world enjoys looking at you in your shorts, we really need to go."
"Alright. Let's go."
"Put some god damn clothes on."
"Jesus."

Turns to walk back in the kitchen, petting the dog in passing. "You are really a bitch to wake up to."
"Stop acting like you're happy!"
"I am happy."
"You're a narcissist."
"And it makes me happy!"

Do it do it do it

All the cool kids are doing it.

June, shut up. I don't even know what you're talking about.

Just do it.

Do what?!

You know you want to.

This is stupid.

Do it.

Everything is Under Control

Driving on a cliff, looking at waves moving patterns around in the ocean. Wind is hot and grass is soft.
"Life, dude." She has one hand on the steering wheel, cruising down the road, tapping her left foot along with the music. "It's a give and take. You give to me, I take from you."
They laugh extensively, then she turns the music down a little.
"The great thing is, no one can actually tell you how to live your life. In this society, someone is always going to try. But at the end of the day, it's still just your life. And no one else's fucking business."
"Well, you gotta co-exist", the one in the passenger seat throws in, hair fluttering in the wind.
"Fuck, what did it say?" She tries to remember. "We're all islands, by ourselves, on our own, doing whatever the fuck we want. But underneath the surface of the ocean, all the islands are connected, and it's really one huge island underwater."
"So, you're basically arguing against yourself now."
"No. Just saying. You're the island, you gotta get by on your own and figure your shit out, but all those other islands that seem so far away, they are going to be somehow affected by the shit you do."
"Life, dude." She rolls the window up. "It's so easy, if you just look at it like that."

You Feed Parking Meters

On the corner of the bars is a war going on between the green and the yellow cabbies. They're all parked in a pile, yelling at each other and talking cab driver shit, which mostly involves the bashing of each others driving skills and car models.

As I am walking past the chaos it all feels like a strange lucid dream where every situation springs into existence out of nowhere, rages on in my mind for a minute or so, only to completely disappear and make room for the next one.

Jeff Jones is standing at the corner of the coffee shop, stirring in a cup of tea and relentlessly fiddling with the little string that is attached to the teabag.
"Jeff Jones, what's happening?"
"I'm gonna drink my fucking coffee now, that's what's happening." He dunks the teabag in and out. "It's not fucking steaming right."
"That's because it's tea, Jeff Jones."

Across the street the cabs have finally calmed down, slowly mingling in with the late night traffic and all acting as if absolutely nothing had happened. Blaring their radios and bouncing their good luck charms, they all load up on passengers tumbling out of the bars and take off.

"Jeff Jones takes shit from nobody." He dips the teabag. "That's what I told my mom. Heeheehee." He breaks out into raspy laughter that subsides just as soon as its begun. "Fuck rehab, man, I'm gonna drink and smoke and snort till the day I die."
A man in a nice suit exits the coffee shop.
"Spare some change for a social outcast?" Jeff Jones positions himself right in front of the door and yells: "You feed parking meters with it, might as well feed me!!"
The man in the nice suit just walks around Jeff Jones and ignores him, breathing through his mouth.

"That's right, people!" Jeff Jones announces to all the bar hoppers and coffee shoppers and cab drivers and street performers. "Jeff Jones is not going down without a bar of Xanax and a bottle of Gin!"

Fick Heil!

Today, I have come to spread the word about the APPD. And I don't mean the Association of Pediatric Program Directors.

The APPD is (roughly translated) the Anarchistic Pogo Party of Germany.
It was founded almost 30 years ago and it is still (with few minor interruptions) up and running - very much to the surprise of all "serious" German politicians.

"Pogo" is the German word for the dance you will witness in the pit of punk shows, so it is no shock that the party was founded by "Zewa" (paper tissue) and "Kotze" (vomit), two punks who believed that Germany could be improved in major ways. (Maybe it was also another excuse to get smashed and break a bunch of stuff, just like Saint Patrick's for Americans.)

As all great organizations, the party split a couple of years ago, creating the additional Pogo-Party, which is basically the same thing only now all those idealistic punks have not one but TWO platforms to let off steam.

I'd give you the links to both party's websites, unfortunately they're all in German.
(And Blogger's being a bitch)

That's why I, the German Ambassador of Nonsense, will slowly breastfeed their ideas to the American public, meaning that I will go on with some awesome, in English written propaganda.

Today, just a few of APPD's aims:
1. Right to unemployment with full salary
2. Abolishment of the right to demonstrate WITH prior announcement
3. Youth pension instead of retirement pension
4. Legalization of all drugs


Disclaimer:
1. I am not a member of or otherwise associated with the APPD. This is purely informative, and all ya'll should take it with a grain of salt.
2. "Fick Heil" does NOT carry the same meaning as Hitler's "Sieg Heil", for it translates to "Fuck Heil" and is interchangeable with "Pogo Heil" as a greeting or farewell.

Politics and me, the Moron

Obama is elected, the world loves the US again, what is everyone so excited about?
Down here in the hole of endless financial troubles, no one's life is actually affected by what's going on up there in the House of endless Whiteness. Whether Bush is a redneck dumbass who at least managed to be clever enough to make himself the President, or Obama is being awfully intelligent and charming on Letterman, down here we still go to the beach everyday, count out change for a burrito, light cigarettes with paper matches, and watch news with distance. We know, change is not here. Hope has left us long ago and isn't coming back. The world will continue to be human wasteland. America will continue to fuck up. And yes, I'm digging Barack, but I've never met the dude and all he's done so far is take more money outta my wallet.

That's why I tell anyone, who dares to ask me about my political affiliation, that I am an Anarchist. If it's a Republican, I let them know that I will assassinate all of their carefully elected officials sooner than they can turn on the TV to watch, and if it's a Liberal I tell them that I will throw a Molotov cocktail at their house. Either way, it gets rid of them pretty successfully. No one wants to argue politics with a moron.

Second Step: Total World Domination

"Why don't you get a job?"
"Ahh, all the good ones are already taken. President, Internet Mogul, Nobel Laureate.."
"What would YOU win a nobel price for?" Strawberry looks at Jo grinning, but Jo isn't smiling. She knows just as well that without any skills, qualifications, or degrees, there isn't a big chance for her to win a job, let alone a price.
"If I could just have a teeny little bit power, I would turn this world around. First step: All radio stations will start playing good music for a change." She kicks at the radio standing on the garage floor. "Second step: Total world domination."
"Who's dominating?"
"ME!!"
"Oh. Right." Strawberry smirks. "That'll look great on your resume."
"I won't need a resume when I am world dictator" Jo says bitter. "I will enforce world peace, cause you know how you always have to force people to do shit that's good for them. Then I'll open up some new industries and force everyone to work together for the benefit of everyone."
"Sounds kinda like communism."
"Maybe. But much, much better than that." Jo points at Homeless Al, who is at this moment making his way across the street, lurching drunkenly from side to side. "Hoboism and Vagabondism will become paid, full-time occupations."
"You just made those words up."
"It doesn't matter! I'm world dictator!"
"Can I be ambassador of farts or something?"
"Sure."