(email, 2009)

I was watching a BBC nature documentary on Animal Planet a couple nights ago. It was late, past midnight. Apparently all the viewers of Animal Planet late at night are women as every single commercial was aimed at female consumers.  One came on with a bunch of women complaining about the loss of sexual satisfaction. There’s something called Zestra that once applied increases sexual satisfaction dramatically. The women interviewed loved it.  After about a minute of this I realized that not only were there no men in the commercial, but there was no mention of men, and the sexual satisfaction was something between them and their Zestra. Oh. We’ve been replaced by an ointment. A bit later there was an ad for something called the Trojan Vibrating Touch Mini-vibrator.  “Big Pleasure in a Small Package!” The older lady explained how you just slipped it over the finger and let it work.  Immense sexual satisfaction was guaranteed. The girls were all thrilled to death and ordering them in all kinds of colors and couldn’t wait to achieve their own immediate, enhanced sexual satisfaction over and over. They laughed at the grandma who explained how to use it, and she said “even I like to have my little fun!”…..

With a small package no less.

Sigh….

I’ve been so busy doing this blog I forgot all about Facebook. So I wrote this in Facebook. Then decided I could pretend I blogged it here. Posting or blogging…what’s the difference? Anyway, tomorrow is double nickles for Brick, btw. Finally. There was a time when double nickles meant double pennies, once for each eye. A hundred years ago that’s what that meant. Now people live forever. Weird. I party with guys over 80. And they do party. Everything but chase girls. Though my friend Virg lets them sit on his lap. All night long at our party, women in his lap. A friend a generation younger watched him jealously. What’s his secret? he hissed. How come they all sit on his lap? He was mad. I said I dunno. Maybe they just like him. Which just made him madder. I told him to have another bowl and not worry about it. He did and stopped. Later’s he’s goofing with the guy. Weed does have its uses. That was my birthday party. Last year or the year before, I can’t remember. They tend to blur together in an endless stream of anecdotes followed by hours of cleaning. Not having one this year. Too expensive. We’ll try later. Now we’re just gonna go to the Foundry on Melrose tomorrow. Love that joint. OK, I’m at work and not working. Many of you are also at work and not working. You’re reading this blog or on your Facebook page posting inane shit to people who write inane comments back. Like this. I mean this is inane. Way inane. Textbook inanity. Of course many of you are not working and can’t believe that I’d sit here at work and not work. I know. I feel shame. And that’s America to me. That and those women sitting in Virg’s lap.

My first words at the office today were who the hell put a fucking platypus on my monitor? Normally it’s good morning, but there was a platypus on my monitor.

I was up till three in the morning writing, come to work a few hours later and have to deal with a monotreme. A stuffed blue monotreme with absurdly bulbous eyes. Cute.

I hate cute. I’m six and a half foot tall and look like an aging linebacker and that and cute don’t jibe.

But I work at Disney. ‘Nuff said.

Once I came to work many years ago and found an eight foot Tinkerbelle painted on my wall. There was me, my desk, my computer, and Tinkerbelle. The girls had a ball with that. A big macho dude with a huge Tinkerbelle over his desk.

That’s not even cute. It’s just sick.

And while none of this is worthy of a blog post, it’s my blog so there.

Good morning everybody….

It’s ten ten ten ten ten.

Cool.

In our ten based civilization, this seems like something special. It ain’t really, and we all know that, but it seems like something special anyway. So dig it.

In a couple years and a couple days and a couple hours and a couple minutes it’ll be 12 12 12 12 12. Babylonians would have dug that.

Next year it’ll be all prime numbers.  Only time in the century.

Holy fuck.

Brick

(2010)

Went to the Playboy Jazz festival yesterday with Fyl. Had a ball. Great jazz, cool people, free press food, free press booze, perfect weather, and hot pants and high heels. I mean, lots, wow. Like being in high school in the 70’s again.
 
I was talked into going off to smoke a joint with a beautiful Filipina woman. She got me so stoned I could barely walk. But hell, it’s the Playboy Jazz Fest.  Anything goes.
 
And there was that midget security guard. She had this badass glare, like you make one short joke, sucker, and you can forget about being a daddy. I stayed out of her way.
 
All kinds of other stuff, too. 12 hours worth. And it was only the first day. This is a great life.
 
Went back today with a pal and behaved myself all day. Had a couple beers. Great music. Amazing seats. Gorgeous women. Midget usher.
 
I just wanted to say midget usher. But there really was one.

Help.

I’m stuck in traffic on the 2 freeway, two days now on the bridge over the Los Angeles River. Carmageddon. Drivers have given up and abandoned their vehicles, roving gangs are robbing and killing, I haven’t seen a highway patrol officer in days. All I can hear is gunfire, wailing and illegal aliens. All I can see are the smoldering ruins of a dead civilization. Situation desperate. Running out of food, water and air. Can someone send help?

Just don’t take the 405.

Brick

Two tecates and lunch at the bar of Don Cucos, watching the bartender shake tequila silly, and all the problems of the world go away.  I was gloriously all by myself. Didn’t have to answer one inane question from coworkers or reporters or musicians or anybody. Just me, the bartender, and some leggy, stacked blonde on the channel nine news hired for her meteorological skills.