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Here’s a view of my apartment from the street. You can navigate around the area. Downtown is just north.

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Sunday morning at 2 am, as most of you know, was the beginning of Daylight Saving Time in the US. That means you lost an hour of sleep, probably enjoyed the fact that sun stayed up until a reasonable hour, and might have been a little annoyed this morning if you had to go to work.

My coworker was lost in the time warp. While he is sitting only a few feet away, his actual thought process is trapped in the future. Everything he says or does refers to events that have yet to happen. The real problem here is that by mentioning these future situations, he’s altering the present in a way that causes ripples in the future. This is driving him insane at a rapid pace.

For example, he has already sent out several instant messages to myself and Graham, with seemingly no context whatsoever. These messages, to him, are supported by a conversation about something that will presumably take place soon. Because we haven’t yet had this conversation, our uninformed responses make him think that we either ignored him or are possibly fucking with him. In reality, we haven’t even had a chance to ignore him.

Because he can’t reconcile the future he is unknowingly destroying and his perception of reality, he is beginning to lose his connection with the actual present reality. This is interesting to watch, if nothing else.

If you’re paying special attention to details and are thinking “wait, shouldn’t he be trapped an hour in the past?”, I’ll note that my theory is still in its infancy and is subject to change.

Jesus,

When you speak, all I hear is cat sounds. This negatively affects our ability to communicate. No progress has come from your attempts at repetition. If you were on Jeopardy and the Answer was “The only word you know how to say” you would still be unable to correctly respond because of you inability to preface your Question with “What is…”. This isn’t your fault, so don’t take it personally if I appear to be ignoring you. You simply can’t talk and need to try less.

Sincerely,
Bryan

P.S. It has recently come to my attention that you are unable to read this. I assume this is because you have no internet access in your cat bed or litter box. Please accept the hand written copy I have left near the mouse toy by the stairs.

Since “finishing” my room, we’ve been working on the other bedroom in the same way. In fact, if you have a mirror handy, you can pretend I posted about the second room by reading the previous post. It’s exactly the same, except the drywall mudding is much more thorough. Also, we left a surprise for whoever tears this place down:

I’m not sure what it’s supposed to mean, really, but it’s nice to know that someone way in the future (most likely a sentient wrecking ball from when the robots take over) will be the next person to see it.

There’s some pictures of my mostly-complete bathroom if you put your mouse cursor on “Read the rest of this” link and then click buttons until something happens.

Read more…

So we got this new guy at work. As far as I can tell, he’s a decently knowledgeable former IT guy, who is perhaps a little nerdy but definitely a potential asset to the company. He seems like a nice guy, but he’s got this hint of paranoia that pops up in casual work chatter. Outside of work chatter, however, he turns it up all the way. At lunch yesterday, I read an article on knitting Christmas sweaters in a local newspaper to avoid a conversation about how the Democrats fund the marijuana trade in California and *that* is why the internal affairs of the state are completely controlled by the secret nuclear proliferation committees that will, someday, force us to move to the eastern seaboard. Which is EXACTLY WHERE THEY WANT US. He’s obviously on to something.

I never really figured out what his angle was. He did admit to having gone through the following political devolution: Republican, to Libertarian, to anarchist. I hope his manifesto is at least outlined or we won’t win the “fuck America” medal back from Muslim extremists until 2050.

During a meeting today, I took the following notes (and only the following notes):

Question 1: What the hell is Matt rambling about, and why?
Follow up A: Is this a conspiracy?
Follow up B: Are the Democrats involved?
Bonus: Can you find a link to marijuana?

Question 2: Am I going to fall asleep during this meeting?
A: Other than the Democrats, who is involved in this conspiracy?
B: Aside from Libertarianism being retarded, name one reason to be an anarchist.
Bonus: Justify your one reason.
Extra Credit: Use facts and do not use the word conspiracy.

Question 3: Is marketspeak potentially lethal?
A: Why is the S.W.A.T. team here?

Chapter 16: A Shameful Walk Home

I woke up in the bathroom at Mark’s for the third time in a week. Someone had thoughtfully covered me with a towel while I slept. Urine splatters were drying on the exposed sleeve of my favorite shirt. Denny had given that shirt to me for my birthday, which was the day before he left me. I found the whole situation deliciously funny, but couldn’t laugh because I was sure I was dying.

One of my wings was stuck in the hinges of the cupboard under the sink. I thought about cutting it off, but that was the hangover talking. I was curious about the night before, but didn’t really want to know. I bit my lip to stop the slot machine of iniquity tumbling through my head. Did I kill anyone? Did I sleep with someone? Were drugs involved? Jackpot.

I needed to get over Denny. This can’t keep happening.

The guys made breakfast. I felt the air for signs that something bad had happened, but Mark was worse off than I was, and Fittie was busy smoking himself back to sleep. Fittie was an interesting guy. He was always present, but never there. For example – one day Denny, Mark and I were talking about how great our meal was the night before. We had gone to a nice restaurant down in the warehouse district, got dressed up, and spent a ton of money. I had a chicken Caesar from heaven. Anyway, when we told Fittie he should have been there, he pointed out that it was his birthday dinner and he paid for all of us. We felt bad and then he got us all very high to cheer us up. How about that?

I suddenly remembered I had about 20 places to be that day, folded up some bacon into a pancake, and dipped it in my coffee mug. That last step was not well thought out, but it was edible enough and soothingly warm. Mark stopped moaning and pulled his head out of his eggs just long enough to grab my jacket and mumble “nuh uh”. Shit.

There went the slot machine again. I hate that feeling because it’s not you that gets to pull the lever.

“Ugh,” fell out of Mark’s mouth and he rocked back in his chair. “Remember the taco stand?”

“Nope.”

“Alright…remember kicking over trashcans outside of the bar?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus.”

Mark explained to me that I suddenly, and violently, decided it was time for tacos, and bid them a good evening by kicking the stools out from under them and spitting in their drinks. They wrapped up their tabs and escorted me outside, telling me that they were indeed going to help me find tacos at 1am. Fittie said that every time I heard the word ‘taco’ I purred like a cat. I can see myself doing that.

“Oh yeah, at one point you threatened to ‘break my face’ and ‘fill your pockets with my teeth’,” Mark pointed out.

Somewhat unexpectedly for the guys, we came across a small taco stand almost immediately. This was fortunate for everyone involved – I would, presumably, shut up and purr myself to sleep with an armful of tacos, and they could stop apologizing to the strangers I insisted on talking to. I ordered something like a dozen tacos from the older Mexican lady, and then sat crosslegged directly where I had just been standing.

In one of those weird drunken states of incredible perception, I responded to a conversation happening above me, even though I didn’t realize it was even occurring.

“So we were arguing with the taco lady about why she doesn’t have a credit card machine in 2001, and her son came up to half translate and half protect her. He must have weighed 90 pounds, and looked like a pencil wrapped in a napkin with his huge apron on. His mouth was unusually large.” Mark shivered. “Then, out of nowhere, you yelled ‘Hey lady, I’ll fuck your kid for 10 tacos’.”

“Oh, wow. But everyone knew I was joking, right?” I asked, partially terrified, and not sure if I was joking at all.

Mark walked into the bathroom and returned with a neatly tied plastic bag and said, “you didn’t even eat them.”

I decided to stop drinking for a while. I noticed that someone was sleeping on the couch way off in the corner. It turned out his name was Andre. He was sleeping in the fetal position with a pillow between his knees. “Maybe he’ll give you a ride home when he wakes up from his sex coma,” Fittie suggested. I had a lot to think about on my walk home.

During the summer last year, I worked as a sales rep for a small time narcotics dealer who moved here from Philly back in ’87. It was a pretty cushy job – I’d wake up at about 9am, roll over and start the car to get the A/C going and put on my Def Leppard mix tape to get me amped for the day. I’d then park in front of the elementary school down on 2nd Ave until the fuzz started giving me awkward looks.

My actual job consisted of driving around a few specific neigborhoods and giving people the in-the-know double head nod. If they responded with a similar double head nod, or in some cases an inverted peace sign, I’d run my sales pitch. I accepted cash mainly, but occasionally I’d get an offer too crazy to turn down. Poor people often use the barter system.

Then I’d go back to the elementary school until the parents started arriving to pick up their kids.

This one particularly balmy day, I was doing donuts in the cemetery while waiting for a client, AJ Jazzymitts, to return with his “fly ass trick” whom he planned to use as payment for a good ball of cakey pearl. I’d seen the women J took back to his mamma’s house, so I was pretty excited. So excited, in fact, I almost flipped my Trans Am when I hit a smaller gravestone (Sorry ?????????y McArthur – I shattered half the stone, so I couldn’t get the whole name). I was also railed to the point that my nose was running through my eyes instead of my nostrils.

AJ Jazzymitts rolls up on his questionably aquired blue Vespa, with his payment in tow. He introduced the whore as Bubbles. It’s worth mentioning that Bubbles was a 6’6″ tall black man dressed as a circus clown. He had one eye, which was strangely arousing. I thought about killing him.

Bubbles got in the back of my car, and I did a few more donuts to get him in the mood. He mentioned he plans to be buried in that graveyard. I jokingly said “how about right next to something-the-fuck McArthur!”. Bubbles didn’t laugh. I didn’t either.

The kinkiness begins as I parked my Trans Am behind the recently closed for business Jiffy Lube on Montague Drive, back by the Taco Bell and K-Mart complex. I ask Bubbles if he’s comfortable being used as payment for a small coke deal, and he says he doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on, so do whatever I want. It turns out he was midly retarded and had been eating vicodin all day.

I sensually remove his red foam nose and use the nose like a powder puff, pretending to apply makeup to my face, as if I myself am becoming a clown. He laughs when I tickle his neck with a Milky Way I found in the parking lot. I then undo the frilly muffler around his neck with my teeth, and throw it in the trashcan outside the broken rear window. He wants it bad.

I’d never had sex with a man, a clown, or a retard before, so I was growing quite anxious. This would undoubtedly be different than the hookers I used to pick up after cashing forged checks at the Check and Go.

But as I whispered sweet words in his hear, I noticed a tear fall from his only functional eye. Bubbles was crying. I had been kneeling on his genitals due to the diminutive size of the rear seat. His speech impediment made it impossible for him to juggle the feeling of pain and the act of speaking simultaneously. I’m used to my sexual partners crying after the act, not before. I was confused.

It was at this point my raging hard on had pushed through the fly of my borrowed BVDs. I had lost my jeans in a bar fight the night before, so it was difficult to hide. I realized it would be impossible to maintain this fantastic feat of engorgement for much longer if Bubbles the mildly retarded clown continued to cry, so I opted to take care of myself elsewhere. I pulled the red curly wig from his head, put it on mine, and licked him on the forehead before wriggling out the window. I then opened my zippo, which I kept in my sock, lit it and threw it in the car. My erection pulsed.

I ran directly to the Denny’s on Second, hoping to find the woman I had been in love with for the last fifteen years. I walked in, hid behind the pick-up-a-toy-with-the-little-crane machine, and watched for her. A family walked in and saw me, and threatened to call the police. I kicked the father in the upper thigh, although I was aiming for his crotch, and ran out the emergency exit. Luckily for me, my love Nell was having a cigarette and a tall can out back. I walked right up to her and said “I think you know what to do with this”.

She told me the restraining order was still valid, and she pulled out her mace, as usual. But I looked her in the eyes and said “baby, I killed a clown for you tonight, can you please consider giving this man a hand job?”. Those golden words sealed the deal. I ended up fucking her in a dumpster.

I went back to get my car, but it was gone. I never saw Bubbles again, but I assume he survived, since I threw the lighter into an unupholstered area of the floor, where it was, in retrospect, unlikely to cause a fire.

That was probably the second kinkiest sexual experience of my life.

I like to look at those trees out there.
Those fucking stupid trees.

They sit in a parking lot all day, that’s great.
I sit in an office, is that good enough for you?
It’s an empty lot and nobody wants to build there anyway.
Sometimes I hate this town.

But I agree with them on a few things.
Why do people have to honk their horns constantly?
Shit, I’m busy.
Why are you in a hurry?

That is a good point you guys. You trees.

Eh. Maybe I’m angry because the air conditioning is fucked up.
It’s probably below 50 in here.
Who keeps changing it?
I’m shivering and I’m probably going to die.

Time doesn’t work either.
I hate that.
It’s at least 7pm right now.
Clock says 4.
Only one of us can be right. I hate clocks.

A lot of weird people walk by.
Right under my window.
I bet they don’t even know I can see them.
I am never curious about where they are going.
Where did they come from? That’s a good question.

An hour is a reasonably small amount of time.
If I was being tortured it would seem to last longer.
There’s no point in dwelling on it.
I just need to stay awake.

We overslept a bit, and have to get ready and moving so we don’t miss anything at the music festival. Ryan doesn’t want us to take the camera since they might not allow it inside, and it’s pouring ass rain right now. Sorry, but it looks like tomorrow’s update will be lacking pictures. I’ll get some stuff from last night up later as well.

Peace out.

Update:

Wow, we are assholes for not taking the camera. Not only were cameras allowed, they were encouraged. Shit.

The Flaming Lips were fucking bad ass. Wow.

Don’t forget to check out Day 2 part 1.

Oh my god. We all thought we escaped last night without any consequences. This was not the case. Holy crap.

Anyway – after the coffee shop, we went for dinner. Originally we were going to eat at Stubb’s, but there was a huge line due to Thievery Corporation playing later in the evening. We ended up at a nice mexican food place. They made guacamole right at the table. The food was good, but probably a bad idea in retrospect.

Upon leaving we saw a homeless guy with a rasta dog. He let us take his dog’s picture.

Frost Tower was looking pretty cool with its lights on.

We then went to The Blind Pig, which isn’t really that great of a bar, but has a nice rooftop patio.

Dan was enjoying himself.

I also was happy to be getting started.

Then some Playboy playmate made an appearance. They made people move out of the area and she had body guards. She’s in the red in this picture, which I took without being too obvious. Then I realized she takes her clothes off for money. I realize this picture is useless.

Wee went to a bar called the Red Fez, which had a lot of blue candles for some reason. I actually intended this picture to be blurry, unlike all the other ones.

Dan and Ryan probably thought about doing gay things to eachother.

And I continued to stay on the other side of the camera until I let my guard down.

I liked this picture because it turned out so badly.

After that, we went to an nice outside bar with a nice mist machine and lots of fans (it was still hot out). For the first time in Austin, I was blown away by the pour I got at a bar. The glass was literally filled to the top. This was great, and all three of us ended up getting one.

The bar I just mentioned was called the Key Bar. It was awesome. Shit, another really blurry one. Eh, whatever.

We had a great time and probably destined ourselves for a horrible tomorrow.

More blurry pictures ahead. The next bar had a weird squishy floor on the roof. See, now I didn’t realize the pictures were actually turning out like this – this is what I saw the whole time.

Ryan tried to convince us he had a gun in his apartment, and Dan and I called him on it. We then followed that up by saying he would never, ever own a real gun. He won’t. Here’s his “I totally will guys” look.

Next we went to Whisky Bar. I’ve never been so amazed at how small a drink can be. It was like $6 for a thimble full of anything. Dan and Ryan danced like pricks while I took pictures.

Eventually I joined in as well.

We had to leave.

To get to the after hours club, we cut through the middle of a block via an alley. The following sequence took place (warning, vomit uncensored):

Fucking awesome.

The after hours club wasn’t too busy, and the picture turned out terrible. Oh well.

And that is all. More tomorrow.