happy gilmore girls

"so what do you do for a living?"

-butter sculptor
-professional test taker
-undecided
-domestic violence poster boy

these are the answers to the question that ran through scooter's mind as he hugged the bar.
quiet as it's kept scooter didn't really have a job.
scooter spent several hours this work week taking pictures of the water filtration plant with a cheap disposable camera. where other people see an illegal domestic spying program, scooter sees the chance to become a quasi- celebrity within certain departments of his local fbi branch.
she continued "i'm not trying to pry or anything... it's just i saw the briefcase."
truthfully now, scooter carried that thing (suitcase) around all day riding the various public transit systems. spending the morning prepping the case, teasing the wires to hang out just so from the case. wires that are connected to nothing. sweating his ass off in a much too big scratchy overcoat. riding the train going nowhere.

he went with professional test taker.

"I dropped out of junior year of high school and since then my intelligence has remained perfectly average." (this part is true)
"i'm serious." said scooter with mock aghast at the disbelieving look she gave him before she picked up her wild turkey and diet coke and taking a deep pull through that tiny straw set it down on the bar again and said "pray tell"

"i'm a freak of nature. i have perfectly average intelligence."
leaning in he made sure to touch elbows as he explained
"whenever they come out with a new test.. sat or act, iq, or whatever. they bring me in and have me take the test. these things are designed by whomever. i don't know. but they and i use that word in italics. i'll lean in a little and to the left to emphasize the italics."
scooter leaned in rubbing shoulders this time with the poor girl.
"they don't really have any idea how hard the test is. i mean not really."

"this is where you come in" the girl said.
)she was wearing a scarf. why was she wearing a scarf? it was in throws of july?(

"exactly, i come in and take the test and establish the baseline. you know, which all other comers are measured against. i mean they don't want these tests they created to be too easy or too hard."
the girl who will be known as churchill. churchill downs (her father had a thing for the ponies... more on that later) now turned her wobbly stool towards scooter and pushing her fun bags together for desired effect and not affect breathlessly exclaimed "you don't say?" with appropriate mocked interest for a totally bullshit story.
continued....

09 nov 2003

where's my mind?
way out in the water, see it swimming.
picking mangoes with phillip, german bloke, good guy.
it's like hanging out with my little brother... nineteen, away from his girlfriend for the first time makes you feel a million years old.
where the hell was i when i was nineteen???
not in australia.
first you get done with the uni.
girls that broke my heart...
these are the ones that really hurt... top five, number (4) four sho.
i'm too old too calloused, too worldly now.
i can't get torn up to pieces.
lisa the girl in my room at cable beach, man i should have tried to hit that even though i don't know your last name...
let's call you churchhill (thank you, you shall know my velocity)...
lisa churchill
i love you, no regrets.
all you have is the time your given.
all we have is the time we're given... a lifetime.

19 mar 2008: 0900 hours eyebrows with brigid

now i am become death destroyer of worlds- oppenheimer quoting bhagavad-gita
i am nothing but an honest drunk and i can honestly say that i'm drunk...
what hath god wrought???
here but for the grace of god we go.
god is dead.
what if the end of the world wasn't this fucking cataclysmic event... what if it just crept up on little cat's paws (robert frost).....
and no one knew it, until it was too late.
if jesus was alive today, would he be union???
nazareth local 745
and is walmart the anti-christ
- honey pot

what else...

things i've been up to...
working a part time job on one of my days off and getting a lot of reading done in the middle of night.
books i've read the double by jose saramago, the wind- up bird chronicles, lies my teacher told me, nickle and dimed and i just started the brief and wondrous life of oscar wao.
also comcast gives you free movies on demand so i've watched bananas and a guide to recognizing your saints. i'm sorry, but shia labeouf... that kid can act. combine the fact that he's been arrested, misdemeanor, in chicago and his street cred just shot through the fucking roof. i'm looking forward to seeing him in the new indiana jones movie.
what else...
getting in the ring and sparring with a couple of guys and girls who are competing in the golden gloves at the end of the month. my nose still feels soft from getting punched in the face over and over again. this girl kc punches as hard as any guy and i'm just eating shots because a) i'm not very good and b) she's like million dollar baby in there without the whole quadripelgic tongue chewing off thing.
i just keep thinking to myself why the face man?
that's about it. good times, good times.

liz: why do let them punch you in the face?
me: i'm trying to break their hands with my nose.

26 jAn 2008

strike out ALS...
partially ejected, pronounced dead at the scene.
did anyone see daniel day- louis start crying on the oprah show over heath ledger???

Barry: Top 5 songs about death. A Laura's Dad tribute list, okay? Okay. Leader of the Pack. The guy fuckin' beefs it on his motorcycle and dies, right? Dead Man's Curve. Jan & Dean.
Dick: Do you know that right after they recorded that song Jan himself crashed his car... Barry: It was Dean you fuckin' idiot...
Rob: It was Jan. It was a long time after the song.
Barry: Okay, whatever. Tell Laura I Love Her. That would bring the house down - Laura's Mom could sing it. You know what I'd want? One Step Beyond by Madness. And, uh, You Can't Always Get What You Want.
Dick: No. Immediate disqualification because of its involvement with The Big Chill. Barry: Oh God. You're right!
Dick: Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Gordon Lightfoot.
Barry: You bastard! That's so good - that should have been mine... The night Laura's daddy died. Sha na na na na na na na na! Brother what a night it really was. Mother what a night it really... angina's tough! Glory be!

i've been thinking about life and death and how completely unfair all of this is...
who said... life is full of pain and misery and it's over all too quickly???
a co-worker of mine, his wife died in a car accident and i don't know, you know?
game over. something like that, i mean what the fuck. some fat three hundred pound fuck drops dead of a massive heart attack at least the people around him could be like: well, we saw that one coming a long way off. he ate shit, he drank shit and never exercised. we tried to warn him. maybe that's the reason i still smoke. way back when, i went to the medical examiner's office and they had this woman on the table. wait, back up...
the actual morgue is in the basement of the medical examiner's office and it has more the feel of a butcher shop then a funeral home. there were five or six people working there that day and they all had a body going. the first thing they did was make an incision across the head from the top of one ear across to the top of the other (the same spot where a girl puts her head band) and the next move was to grab the scalp of the head and pull the skin all the way down over the face... down to their chin. i mean it just peels off. i couldn't believe how easy it was, like in the movie face off. i want to take his face off. you're more amazed that someones face (your face) can come off that easy then horrified. at that point with their face inside out and pulled down past their chin they stopped being a person and become a piece of meat, which is what everyone is, if you want to look at it that way (which i imagine for the purposes of being able to do that job every day you would want).
anyway they had this woman on the table and her chest was open and the guy doing the autopsy points to this woman's lungs and says "look at how pink and healthy her lungs look. you can tell she never smoked." and all you could think is, well her healthy pink lungs really didn't help her when she was busy getting creamed by that bus.
but that's life and life's unfair and god is the most insecure twat i...
all these religions all these people they're constantly have to tell him (god) how great he really is. it's a goddamn commandment for me, keep holy the sabbath. where one day a week you go for an hour and tell god that he's the greatest and there isn't another one like him. what a selfish prick.
when i die i think i would want people to say about me "that son of a bitch had it coming".

rainy day men [guest post]

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wolves at the door [guest post]

there are times when that old devil comes peeking his head around the corner. Or he knocks on the door, lightly, just loud enough that I can hear him.
He likes to taunt me a bit, give me a hint at what's possible, and he knows that I know what a nasty fucker he is.
The thing about him is that he never actually dies. I can beat him again and again, but he'll never be gone for good. I've just revoked his citizenship. I've taken away his passport. I've cut off his legs, and he has to hobble around. He's the only cripple I take pleasure in mocking. Every time I laugh it's me slicing off another bit of his skin. My pleasure is, almost literally, his pain.
But the fucker's still alive. He can still taunt me, make me remember when he he used to beat me bloody. When he had me on the ropes.
"You could barely get out of bed, you coward. Remember that? You stayed up all night, just waiting for something decent to happen. You were nothing. You couldn't even move. Maybe you're still that coward. Are you? I think you are. I think you're weak. You can't even handle a woman leaving. You can't handle memories of the bad days. I'm going to ruin you."

These days, it's not even a fair fight. I've seen his playbook, I've watched all the video, and he never actually learns any new tricks.
Sure, he fights dirty, but then again so do I.

It can be anything that triggers his threats, really. An oddly warm day in the middle of January, and it's 2005 again, and I'm in hell. The woman I love will never come back, and it's hard to see how to get past that. I'm a couple dollars short, and I'm a failure again, a disappointment.

So I run. And clean. And work. And find someone to run around with.
He goes away. For a while. I can't kill him, but he can't kill me either.
I don't like Sundays.