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Hammer Bass Johnson
I hear Led Zeppelin in the background. I wish I had a beer. Led Zeppelin always means more to me when I have a beer or several. We used to sacrifice beer to the Zeppelin Gods. We knew that they too, enjoyed a tasty beverage. Alas, I cannot have a beer right now because I'm sitting here at work. I happened upon 100 words by way of crank.com. Is crank.com one word or two? I'm considering it as two. After reading Jewels entries for July, I decided to join. I'm not a writer...I don't study it, but I enjoy it.
How many times have you told someone to go fuck themselves? Now, how many times have you WANTED to tell someone to go fuck themselves? A disparity in numbers? Yes, of course there is. Always. Jewels taught us HOW to swear. Thank you Jewels. Yes, I've mentioned Jewels in subsequent entries. Does that bother anyone? Well, to anyone but Jewels, go fuck yourself! Now, if we'd all tell someone (preferably a deserving fucker) to go fuck themselves more often, us nice people would reduce our own stress level and the fucker's stress would increase. Would this be a good thing?
I've not compiled a complete list. I just have a few favorites. Drop Mud. Grow a Tail. Pinch a loaf. Taking a big dump is great...especially if you have one of those that disappears down the toilet, never to be seen. One wipers are also great. What really bothers me are the ones that make you think you have a sharpie marker sticking out of your ass and you can never wipe enough. Those suck! What about those explosive stucco ones? Yesterday, some guy in a stall sounded like he was emptying a bucket of lumpy milk into the toilet.
Ok. I just got home and I've popped open my first beer. Through the course of the evening I'll drink and write. Hopefully I'll be so smashed later that I'll have no recollection of what I write/ Two beers and a cheap cigar later. Burp! I feel good. Where's that fucking html thing?/ Summer Wheat at the fresh beer store. The guy with the Vikings hat, long hair, thick glasses and the skull ring...The vet dude with his dog tags and crutches. Where did they come from? Beautiful Brazilian with gorgeous breasts. Fuck/ Back from The Verne...I'm drunk.
This one dude was about to eat a chocolate pie. He had a whole pie so I asked if I could have a piece. He said no. I told him he could hit me in the face with the pie if I could have whatever stuck to my face. This he agreed to and promptly hit me square in the face with the pie. Almost the entire thing stuck to my face as the aluminum pan fell away. It was a tasty chocolate pie. There's a moral to this story....I'm just too hung over to realize what it is.
Monday. What more can I say? Well, a hell of a lot! Mondays suck. I do not like Mondays. Mondays are wrong. The other days of the week don't even like Mondays. Down with Mondays I say. I shouldn't be giving Mondays so much attention but I must vent this frustration. Hate them as I do, I suppose they have they're place. If not for Mondays sucking so bad, we would have no accurate barometer with which to quantify the goodness of other days. Ah, should I then be mad at Fridays and Saturdays for making Mondays suck so bad?
Recently I've had dreams that filled me with dread. Last night I had one that filled me with hope. I don't really remember what it was about. There was a presence. It was a woman. We connected. That's all I know. More vividly I recall the nuclear explosion dream, and the swimming dream. My brother was in the swimming dream. He moved on in 1988 and I rarely dream of him. I like to think of dreams as communication. So what the hell was the nuke dream trying to tell me? Fire could be rebirth and water, rejuvenation. Eh. Fuckit.
Remember the first time you puked after drinking too much? I don't...but there was this one time... My buddy and I went to this English pub, The Rose and Crown, very kewl place, and we started having beverages. Pints of this and that and a few shots of whatever. We asked the bartender to give us something different, so he came up with some green drink with Tobasco Sauce in it....bleck...and then we washed that down by tipping back a pint of Guiness. Soon after, I was puking, then dry heaves for about half an hour. God that was fun.
My brother and I used to fart in each other's face. To us, that was just about the funniest thing you could do. The day Jon farted in my father's face was classic, and as I recall, he was paid in kind...doubly so. I was in the air force years ago and my roommate was sitting on the floor watching TV, so I strolled by and ripped one in his face....then ran. Apparently he did not think this was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. I guess I assumed that all guys grew up that way. Dang.
Maybe on the surface, you do not like Star Trek V, The Final Frontier. But you consider the depth of one man's defiant claim to ownership of his pain, three best friends standing around a campfire singing Row Row Row Your Boat, and if you miss those profundities, I feel sorry for you. Pain and pleasure are intimately intertwined my friend and you cannot separate the two. We are meant to experience joy and we are meant to suffer. We cannot have one without the other. It is a cruel and wonderful world we live in. Beam me up Scotty.
Saturday morning at the bagel shop. That girl with her mom reminds me of an old girlfriend. This nine grain bagel reminds me of cardboard. The coffee isn't bad. Lots of people with fresh new babies walking around. I'm sure it wasn't long ago that the girl with her mom was a fresh new baby. Now I'm thinking what beautiful babies we could make together. Yeah, one day I'd like to have a little me or a little her. I can dream. Usually that's all I do. I guess I must have dreamt what cardboard tastes like. I like Saturdays.
So if I'm not supposed to sit around and watch the topless maid service, what the fuck is the point? If my buddies and I can't drink beer and gawk, then why is the service offered? Mayhap topless maids clean more thoroughly than maids wearing tops. Perhaps the topless maid, being free from the constrictions of upper body apparel, can more easily move her arms about, utilizing elbow grease more efficiently. Some girls like to have their breasts ogled. If you're not one of those girls, don't expose your cleavage to the public and don't become a topless maid. Jeez!
Look at that pretty nest that the pigeon has constructed on my balcony. There are two pigeon eggs that the pigeon has constructed in the nest on my balcony. My goodness, baby pigeons that the pigeon has constructed in the nest on my balcony. Over in the corner that isn't the nest, observe that really big pile of shit that the pigeon has constructed on my balcony. What was once a nest that was constructed by a pigeon on my balcony is now a pile of baby pigeon shit that the babies live in. Flying lessons have begun. Thank God.
Do you know that ham is from pig? Of course you do. Why don't we just call it pig? We don't change the name of all the chicken parts, so why the pig? We say chicken legs and chicken breasts and chicken wings. I suppose if we had to call certain sausages, Pig Face, or Pig Guts, or Pig Cock, it might not go over so well, but still! I'll have a pig ass on rye please, hold the mayo. If your local chicken place ever offers ‘fried calamari rings', don't eat it! I'll have the fried chicken sphincters please.
Spare a liver? I drank about a gallon of beer last night. Ugh. I managed to avoid turning my toilet into a Jackson Pollock piece, which is something to be thankful for I suppose. Of all the frightening lapses in judgement that occur during an alcohol induced altered state (AIAS), the belief that one needs yet more beer has got to be one of the scariest. No, I didn't drive, that would have been THE scariest. Something did get broken however, and that's a pre-req for a good party...as long as it isn't a bone. I need a freakin nap.
When I was a wee lad, I would draw a character I called Peace Man. He always wore dark shades and a beret. His face was always unshaven, he had a cross, or X shaped band-aid on his face and he wore an ear ring. I also never drew him without a smile. I've often wondered from where he came. Perhaps he was me, or someone I knew, from before. Maybe he is me of the future. I have the ear ring and the scruffy face, all I need is a beret and a band-aid....and a smile. Peace, man. Righton.
I'm a pseudo veggie, or as my ex used to say, ‘alternivore'. Anyway, I had a big fat burger last night and it was pretty yummy. On the subject of big fat burgers...my sister was grilling some burgers and portabella mushrooms. She had made this ‘burger' for her husband. It was no burger though...it was a big freakin meatloaf, trying to pass itself off as a burger! It was as freakin big as my freakin head! A freakin monster of a freakin pat of meat! It was freakin BurgerZilla, King Freakin Burger Kong! Eh. Guess ya had to be there.
It's late. I went on a gambling cruise. I lost money. Aside from that... Dang. I really don't feel like writing. I'm tired. Something happened today that I hope changes my life. No, I'm not going to talk about it. What I will talk about is what a lazy ass I've been. I'm running Chicago in October and I'm woefully unprepared. Less party, more run. I also need to get my Elvis costume ready...and this place is a wreck! I need to clean up around here. It's time for me to go to sleep. Good night. Sweet dreams me.
The order of the evening was Thai. After filling myself, I sat there, drawn in by the slow moving ceiling fan reflected in the plexi glass table top. For a moment I was there, in Thailand. The night was warm and a slight perspiration covered my face as I savored the remnants of spice. On the ride home, I was treated to ‘I'm an Ordinary Man' from ‘My Fair Lady' and a most spectacular show of lightning. Listening to why I should remain a bachelor, soaking up the beauty of the night sky, all the while, thinking of a woman.
I've recently started to purge. Liberating it is. Crap...identify it and throw it the frick away! I have some smoked cheese in my fridge and I'm looking forward to tasting it. Beer goes well with smoked cheese. Smoked beer from Germany is also quite nice. We can't get good stuff like that in Florida because the beer laws suck here. I think they'll be changing soon. I had a spider named Fred and I would say hello to him every day. The fuckers came and took him away! Poor old Fred. He would only hurt a fly. I miss Fred.
When I finally see the culmination of these 31 days, I'll decide whether or not to do this again. I'm in a shitty mood right now. I don't like to write when I'm feeling foul. I do have one question though. Why are we doomed to repeat the same fucking things over and over again? Do we ever learn our god damned lessons? Can't I just fucking hate the world and leave it at that? Wait...that's three questions. Sorry. Anyway. No, I guess. I don't hate the world. It just blows my mind what we put ourselves through sometimes.
MAN! That was NOT ME that wrote yesterday's 100. JEEZ! Here are some things that I remember fondly. Match Box cars. Circus Peanuts. (the orange kind) Finding naked girl pics. Billy Blastoff. G.I.Joe w/kung-fu grip. (yes, I had him) Chocolate Chip Oatmeal cookies. (mom's) Stage acting. First drunk. First motorcycle. Kissing lessons. Led Zeppelin (and corresponding Zep family) The beginning of most every relationship. Mom. Dad. Sister. Brother. Finishing first marathon. Chance meeting on a boat. The last couple of years. Swimming naked on the eve of Y2K in ocean that has now been closed because of shark attacks.
I was pretending I could do a roundhouse kick. Jumped up and swung my leg around, not realizing the guitar case was nearby. My toenail caught a leatherette seam. Guitar and case went flying. Aforementioned toenail hung on to it's bed by a thread. Blood rushed from the scene. Hurts to think about it doesn't it? When you run a lot, toenails tend to fall off, but at a very slow pace. Pretend to have roundhouse kicking capabilities, that pace can become rather instant. So. If you're going to play the guitar with your toe....remove guitar from case, pluck slowly.
Last night we broke out the vinyl. That's the only time I get to hear Ronnie James Dio. Love his lyrics. Rock. A few beverages were also in order. How many, you ask? Mayhap too many. I think I'll save Bloody Marys as a morning refresher. Hey, have you ever farted and shat yourself? I was at the beginning of an all day class once and I did. I just sat in it all damn day. TMI? I puked myself once and slept in it, but who hasn't? Brother and I used to wad scotch tape in each other's hair.
Stop me if I've told this one before. We used to jump a lot of ramps with our bikes when we were kids. It was the extreme sport of that era. I don't think we ever met a ramp that was too big or scary. Naturally, we would turn it into a competition. Who can jump the farthest. We grew up in Florida so we didn't have any steep hills to work up momentum. We would go back a ways and get the bike moving as fast as humanly possible, always assuming that we'd land on our tires. More tomorrow.
One day as we were having our little bike jumping Olympics on a hard stretch of red clay road, something happened that has always stood out in my memory. I think I had the lead at the time. It was Danny's turn. Danny had these tree trunk legs and he had decided to apply himself on this particular run. As we watched him tear by us, he had a terrible look of determination on his face. He hit that ramp going FAST. Silence. Bike and Danny flying through the air...HORIZONTAL! They landed sideways with a disturbing sound. Danny wins gold!
Hey, remember a few days ago when I said that something happened to me that would change my life? I was right. Nope, still not gonna talk about it. Now for something completely different. I knew this guy. He collected scabs and boogers and toenails. He was fascinated with that sort of body refuse. He also swore that his girlfriend had perfect feet. I also knew a girl that used to date Robert Plant. She dates women now. That's the closest I've ever been to Bob...we touched the same breasts. I'm sure he's as thrilled about that as I am.
I am at a crowded bar on the weekend. What the hell is that guy in his Navy dress whites doing in a dirty bar? One guy is hunched over his near empty pint glass. He's swaying a bit. He's gonna heave. He does. Fills his glass as he puts a hand to his mouth and runs for the bathroom. Some one's B-day. Cake fight ensues...doesn't look so good on those Navy whites. That's one pissed sailor. Well what the hell pal?! It's right there in your officer's handbook. Dress whites will always attract thrown B-day cake. I told you.
A couple of cheap beers at this place and then we'll go to the English pub and toss some darts. Piss away your life this way for years waiting for something meaningful to come along. What the hell though, it's fun. It's what's meaningful right now, so shut the fuck up. Like Alfalfa said to Spanky, ‘I have to live my own life'. If you heed people that tell you how it should be done, you're a voluntary slave. You carve your fucking niche and I'll carve mine. Hell, let's talk more over a few beers down at the pub.
Tomorrow is Friday. Last day of the month. Last day of this stuff. ‘I'm so glad we had this time together...just to share a laugh and sing a song... seems we just get started and before you know it...comes the time we have to say so long. Good night everybody! HA! Name the artist of that song. A nifty no prize for the first lucky caller. Ok. A clue or two. She used to wiggle her ear after singing it. I think it was the left ear. Sidenote. Try a banana, peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich. Add a little curry.
And so, we've come to the end of our rainbow. We've laughed a little, we've cried a little. Everyone's burning question must be..."GOOD GOD!!!, WILL THIS HAMMER BASS JOHNSON RETURN AND GRACE US WITH HIS WIT AND WISDOM FOR ANOTHER MONTH!?!" I love you all, well....not really. It's been fun and it's been a unique experience. However...I cannot say whether I'll return or just fade away into the brightness of the light that I have created. Yes, I acknowledge your adoration. I place my hands upon your heads, and I give you peace and love. Fuck off.
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