Bad Bad Girlfriend

I'm getting down.

I'm on the edge of my bed, jamming to Bad Girlfriend by Theory of a Deadman. Shit, the guitar licks and the drumbeats on the song are unbelievable. And the lyrics can't be stopped. Brutal like a kick to the groin, and vicious like a rusty hacksaw.

Every playa's horror, every loyal man's nightmare. A Bad Girlfriend. Unstoppable like an avalanche of snow, unpredictable as a storm on the sea, more damaging than a runaway Mack Truck. This song says it all. I can't stop jumping up and down to the fucking beat. It just came on the Internet radio and it's ONLY going to play on the Internet. The radio can't hold the heat, because the FCC will shit a cow. It'll melt a lot of CD's. That's my prediction.

AM I ENTRANCED? I'm goddamn digging it. I'm singing at the edge of my bed, and waking up Little John and Robert. It's still early. They're trying to get a jumpstart on the night. That's bullshit. Then they'll start complaining that they can't sleep. I shut the fuck up though, no need to anger the natives. GOD walks by. He's a fucking force of nature too.

But my musical tastes are not at issue here. What IS is my need for Slim Jims and San Pellegrino. I need these two. I believe the salt in the Slim Jim causes me to need the water, like a salt lick in a cattle car. And drink San Pellegrino I do. I open my mouth and pour it in like through an engine oil funnel. What's up with that? My addiction to these shit's are becoming dangerous. I buy them by the fistfull, and bottles of San Pellegrino by the buckets. I carry the Slim Jims in my bag. That and Jack's Links. They're the same fucking thing. I pack my gear with them, and I eat them hard shit makers for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I really thought that if I ate them alot, I'll get used to them and sick of them, then can't stand them. Getting ill whenever I see them. BUT NO!

My compass spun. I got turned out instead. Now I have one heap of an addiction. My addictive personality has finally latched onto something other than alcohol. Slim Jims, Jack's Links, San Pellegrino, Interpol, and now Bad Girlfriend. I'm fucked.

Going on, because I really don't see the need to rest my conversation on my addictions. I'm jamming to the beat and writing my blog, and screenplay. Rolling at freight train speed. I'm closing in on that finish. Down to about forty pages. She's finishing up at long last. Two years of constant, or near constant writing. Probably over several thousand pages. The mother of all endeavors for me...well not really. My book with my brother, Hegemony, is the opus of all my work. And to think that I came to a hair's breath of losing it forever. Only from the quick witted thinking of my brother did we have at least something to hang onto. Luck was with us for a change.

Andre walks past me, and seconds later a whif of an aroma sails past, smelling like the crack of an ass. I know the smell. It's feet, not ass. Feet can have a similar smell, it's just a little more pungent and lingers in the air longer. If you're forced to smell it long enough, the pungency gives way to an acidic smell, like feet. Andre needs to take a shower worse than I do.

Vanessa the Tech walks through the Dorm, looking for controlled substances. Whatever that means. As she walks past the bathroom, two new skeks call out to her. The shower is broken because it's leaking. She goes into the men's bathroom to investigate it. I make up my mind at that point that is she ever walks into the bathroom when I'm in there, I'm stepping out with no pants on, letting my cheese doodle dangle. Three things will happen. She'll freeze in shock, burst into laughter, or run out of the bathroom. I'm ready for any and all of them. I wonder if the male Tech's walk into the women's dorm bathroom?

And the skeks lead her right inside. A fucking invasion, but they are so used to be treated like children that they can't even understand boundaries. They have no idea of what they are doing. Let's have some fucking privacy SOMEWHERE here. But they sold their adulthood to have somewhere to rest their heads. These men are in their forties and fifties, and these Techs are in their twenties and thirties. They could be our children, and to be treated so trifling is an impressive blow to the psyche. I am surrounded by adult children.

Yes, I am disgusted at times. That's why I like to listen to music when I come into this place, to drown out the madness. Internet radio is the panacea of all of my ills. I'm now listening to: 'When Anger Strikes,' by the Editors. It's a nice calm down from Bad Girlfriend.

I need to calm down now. It's soon time for bed. I'm going to work on the screenplay for a little while longer. A parting blow. I'll continue in the morning.

Talk to you later.

Hobobob