The GIP and His Toilet-Clogging Dumps
3:06 AM July 17, 1998
We play chess every night.
The carpet!
That's not how
I feel, that's the way it is?
On some things nothing will happen until push comes to shove.
Struggling against likelihoods. A lot more unrelated
garbage.
11:32:45 PM July 18 1998 Sa
There's nothing doing today. Just my pot belly. Parducci merlot. In the house tonight. Ate pizza with Rawler and Thing and GIP this afternoon at the Pizza Show in Hawthorne. Mark McGwire didn't hit any homers on the tv hung up in the corner. I told about zipping my dick at school and about bringing up Suheidi's peaches.
Dead end. Finished that little book of Bukowski drivel. I marked a few pages, though. Got two different radio stations on at once. One of them talks of Lincoln going down the Mississippi to New Orleans. I know that's random, but that's what it said. On my desk sits an old black and white photo that I shot of a sailboat by an island up near Vancouver. I don't know about sketching black and white photos in red ink, but I don't know what else to do. [sketch of photo in red ink] Rawler was on GIP's roof adjusting GIP's new satellite dish for him. When Thing and I pulled up, the first thing I said was, "You pulling any porn down on that thing yet?" He laughed. I said, "Let me know if you need any help. I brought my work boots." I held my foot up in the air. I was wearing drug store sandals. Thing and I went into the house. Rawler came in a moment later. "How about a beer, GIP?" GIP never has beer, even though he drinks plenty of it out of my fridge. I knew he wouldn't have any. I said, "Man, this guy comes to my place and drinks like a six pack and takes stinky, toilet-clogging dumps whenever he feels like it; You would think he'd offer a beer when he knew he was going to be having guests." The thing of it was, I just really wanted to say "toilet-clogging dumps."
We play chess every night.
The carpet!
That's not how
I feel, that's the way it is?
On some things nothing will happen until push comes to shove.
Struggling against likelihoods. A lot more unrelated
garbage.
11:32:45 PM July 18 1998 Sa
There's nothing doing today. Just my pot belly. Parducci merlot. In the house tonight. Ate pizza with Rawler and Thing and GIP this afternoon at the Pizza Show in Hawthorne. Mark McGwire didn't hit any homers on the tv hung up in the corner. I told about zipping my dick at school and about bringing up Suheidi's peaches.
Dead end. Finished that little book of Bukowski drivel. I marked a few pages, though. Got two different radio stations on at once. One of them talks of Lincoln going down the Mississippi to New Orleans. I know that's random, but that's what it said. On my desk sits an old black and white photo that I shot of a sailboat by an island up near Vancouver. I don't know about sketching black and white photos in red ink, but I don't know what else to do. [sketch of photo in red ink] Rawler was on GIP's roof adjusting GIP's new satellite dish for him. When Thing and I pulled up, the first thing I said was, "You pulling any porn down on that thing yet?" He laughed. I said, "Let me know if you need any help. I brought my work boots." I held my foot up in the air. I was wearing drug store sandals. Thing and I went into the house. Rawler came in a moment later. "How about a beer, GIP?" GIP never has beer, even though he drinks plenty of it out of my fridge. I knew he wouldn't have any. I said, "Man, this guy comes to my place and drinks like a six pack and takes stinky, toilet-clogging dumps whenever he feels like it; You would think he'd offer a beer when he knew he was going to be having guests." The thing of it was, I just really wanted to say "toilet-clogging dumps."
Labels: Lowlife Literature
posted by johnz at 7:49 PM
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