|2002-12-23 || smoked pork
soundtrack � Clutch � s/t
woke late today to the news that joe strummer died. hopefully not of cocaine, or heroin. they said he died �peacefully in his home of a heart attack� yesterday. Believe it or not, this is more disheartening than George Harrison dying last November. Obviously that was a big deal, but we knew he was sick. This was particularly shitty for me, as I was literally listening to the song Straight to Hell as I pulled into my driveway late Saturday night. What a surprise.
someone gave me one of those daily desk calendars from my office of Michael Moore, called �Stupid White Men� from his last book. Cool. It doesn�t beat the Edward Gorey one I had a couple years ago, but it will do. On my birthday there is a quote from Ronald Reagan.
Out of pot until I can find a new dealer. Mine moved down to Florida, just like the Butthole Surfers song says.
Get paid tomorrow, I will finally start the long put off task of Christmas shopping. I will always be selfish, so of course the last thing I�m thinking about on a daily basis is what I should buy someone. I have some ideas. I know what I want. I think next year I will just buy a bunch of things for myself while I�m really drunk, and wrap them a few weeks before Christmas, and then on the day I will open and see what I bought myself. Then I will leave my little shack in the woods and send packages of explosives to people in the technology world.
This morning thought of that cop from my old town who was a motherfucker. Age 19 or so sitting in some parking lot playing music and these pigs pull in and tell us to leave. One of them decides to call me a faggot and that I think I�m tough with my tattoos, etc. Fast forward two years later, I�m working at this small supermarket where this cop frequents. My job is the typical job where I get to stock shelves, pack groceries, but also I get to clean the meat locker every week. Not a fun job for a vegetarian, but I�m not a vegetarian, so whatever. So every summer apparently this cop has this big barbecue for him and all of his cop friends. They put all of his meat in one box. Me being the punk shit that I am, but bright, and original in my ploys to carry out revenge�I am a Scorpio, so�I grabbed one of the packages of steak tips and put it in my smock, and took it to�the bathroom, yes. In the bathroom we had a tiny little bucket we used to wash things, not a mop bucket, but a rag bucket. Normally we would use these to fill with pounds of cole slaw or what have you. I was going to use this as a toilet/meat marinater today! I filled it about � with piss that I saved up from drinking two or three mountain dews. For good measure, I used a Dixie cup and scooped some good old fashioned toilet water and put it in there as well. I then sat down and read the paper in there for 20 minutes or so, took the meat out, wrapped it again, and snuck it back into the box. Happy 4th of July you fucking pig mother fucker. A year or so later this same cop was in a car accident which severed his tongue and broke his neck or something. To say this guy deserved worse is an understatement. In an ironic twist, one of my friends that was with me that night the cop yelled at us, is a cop alongside him.
I should probably do some work today.