Puerile and Pointless, with no Hope for Enlightenment

  HERE'S A GOOD WAY TO MEDITATE: READY? WHEN IT'S WARM ENOUGH, FORCE YOURSELF TO GRAB A BOTTLE OF WINE AND GO OUTSIDE. IF YOU WANT TO GET FANCY, HANG A HAMMOCK. BUT LAYING A BLANKET ON THE GROUND WORKS JUST FINE. DRINK ENOUGH OF THE WINE TO LOOSEN THE MIND MUSCLES. LAY DOWN AND STARE AT THE STARS. THINK ABOUT THE COUNTLESS YEARS IT TOOK THOSE PHOTONS FROM EACH STAR TO REACH YOUR RETINA. THEN THINK ABOUT HOW FOR EACH PHOTON THOSE YEARS HAPPENED IN AN INSTANT. THEN FORCE YOURSELF TO THINK ABOUT ALL THE TERRIBLE SHIT THAT HUMAN BEINGS DO TO EACH OTHER. FORCE YOURSELF TO REALLY THINK ABOUT THE BAD STUFF. THINK ABOUT ALL THE TERRIBLE SHIT THAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU. SIT WITH IT. CRY. FORCE YOURSELF. THEN THINK ABOUT THE STARS AGAIN AND THE PLANETS AND THE ANIMALS AND GRASS AND TREES AND FLOWERS. THINK ABOUT PEOPLE FALLING IN LOVE AND BABIES BEING BORN AND TODDLERS LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY AS THEY HYSTERICALLY RUN FROM FATHERS AND TICKLE MONSTERS. THINK ABOUT ALL THE THINGS YOU'RE THA...

LAURA, THE AGING TECH AT THE PHARMACY AT THE NEAREST KING SOOPERS, WHERE I NEEDED TO GO TO PICK UP SOME AMOXICILLIN, SPOKE TO ME LIKE I WAS A FUCKING MORON. IN HER DEFENSE, I AM A FUCKING MORON, BUT: ONE— SHE HADN'T HAD A CHANCE TO LEARN THAT BEFORE TALKING TO ME THAT WAY. AND: TWO— SHE GETS PAID, IN PART, NOT TO TALK TO FUCKING MORONS LIKE THEY'RE FUCKING MORONS. 

  Manny Furious: “I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE 5 PISTACHIOS AS A LITTLE SNACK.” [*295 pistachios later….] Manny Furious: “FIVE MORE PISTACHIOS AND THEN I THINK I'LL BE SATISFIED....”

  Manny Furious frying potatoes for a Sunday breakfast: *puts salt *cooks a few mins *tastes undercooked potato *puts more salt *cooks a few minutes *tastes undercooked potato *puts more salt *cooks a few mins *tastes undercooked potato ...

 EL CROW WAS AN OLD SOCIAL COWBOY WHO HAD DROPPED OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL OUR SENIOR YEAR, AND WHO SOMEHOW ENDED UP ENROLLED AT THE UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO IN BOULDER A FEW MONTHS LATER, BUT WAS KICKED OUT A COUPLE OF MONTHS AFTER THAT FOR SELLING STEROIDS TO SOME MEMBERS OF THE FOOTBALL TEAM AND OTHER GULLIBLE JOCKS. THE THING ABOUT IT WAS--AND THE THING EL CROW NEVER TOLD ANYONE--WAS THAT WHAT HE WAS SELLING WASN’T ACTUALLY STEROIDS. IT WAS AN INJECTABLE FORM OF VITAMIN A. NOT THAT IT MATTERED. IN A PRIME EXAMPLE OF “MIND OVER MATTER” ALL THE FOOTBALLERS WERE SEEING INCREDIBLE GAINS IN THE WEIGHT ROOM. “This is some of the best shit I’ve ever had,” THE PLAYERS WOULD EACH TELL HIM. “My bench numbers have exploded, bro. Bro, I’m totally crushing the smith machine. It’s fucking incredible. And my balls haven’t shrunk at all. Where did you get it?” “Oh,” EL CROW WOULD REPLY SLYLY. “It’s just a little place called Papas Dulce down in Mexico.” OF COURSE, EL CROW COULD’VE FOUGHT THE ALLEGATIO...

EINSTEIN SAID THAT ONE DOES NOT TRULY UNDERSTAND SOMETHING IF ONE CANNOT EXPLAIN IT CLEARLY AND SIMPLY. BUT…. EINSTEIN NEVER HAD TO TRY TO DESCRIBE DRAGON BALL Z TO SOMEONE HE WAS TRYING TO CONVINCE TO WATCH IT. SO WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE KNOW?

  YES." --Manny Furious, who did not receive any salsa for his Sonic’s superSONIC breakfast burrito, when asked by the cashier at the Sonic’s drive-thru if he wanted any salsa for his Sonic’s superSONIC breakfast burrito.

 I WASN'T STONED, I PROMISE. BUT I HAD TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP LAST NIGHT, PARTIALLY BECAUSE I WAS PREOCCUPIED WITH ALL THE DIFFERENT USES/MEANINGS OF THE WORD "JACK." JUST THINK ABOUT IT. OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD: THE NAME JACK CARJACK, SKYJACK, HIJACK GAME OF JACKS BLACKJACK THE GAME BLACKJACK WEAPON JACKS IN THE CARD DECK JACK OFF JACK UP— TO BEAT SOMEONE UP JACK UP— TO LIFT SOMETHING TO MAKE A MESS OF SOMETHING—"I JACKED IT ALL UP" PRONOUN— "HIT THE ROAD, JACK" EUPHEMISM FOR UNFAIRNESS—"THAT WAS JACKED UP" TO STEAL— "YOU GOT JACKED" SLANG FOR CELL PHONE FLAPJACKS "YOU DON'T KNOW JACK SHIT" LUMBERJACK JACK OF ALL TRADES DUDES WHO ARE “JACKED” JACKPOT JACK O’ LANTERN NOW I'M TIRED AND MY HEAD HURTS, THOUGH, SO I THINK I'M GOING TO TRY TO RELAX AND GET READY FOR BED WITH THE HELP OF A COUPLE OF SHOTS OF JACK.

  Issa Furious: Look daddy, a Barbie puzzle. Manny Furious: JESUS CHRIST. Issa Furious: What? Manny Furious: OH, LOOK. HERE'S A NINJA TURTLES PUZZLE. LOOK. THEY'RE TURTLES AND THEY FIGHT STUFF. THEY FIGHT THE FOOT CLAN. WITH NINJUTSU. IT'S REALLY COOL AND STUFF. THEY ALL HAVE DIFFERENT WEAPONS AND THEIR DAD IS A RAT. Issa Furious: .... Manny Furious: AND, SURE, THEY'RE ALL MALE TURTLES, BUT THEY HAVE THIS FRIEND, APRIL O'NEAL AND SHE'S SORT OF LIKE A PRINCESS. IN A WAY. KIND OF. BUT SHE WEARS A YELLOW TRENCH COAT AND SHE'S A JOURNALIST WHICH IS BETTER THAN BEING A PRINCESS, BECAUSE SHE GETS SHIT DONE AND STUFF, AND NOTHING'S GIVEN TO HER, SO SHE HAS TO WORK HARD AND DEPEND ON HER WITS. DOESN'T THAT SOUND COOL? ISN'T THAT FUN? Issa Furious: .... Manny Furious: .... Issa Furious: .... Manny Furious: .... Issa Furious: Look daddy, a Barbie Puzzle.

PEDOLO DID INDEED LIVE IN AN ASSISTED LIVING FACILITY. IT WASN’T A HOSPITAL OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. IT WAS SIMPLY A SERIES OF DUPLEXES AND A COURTYARD. THE COMPLEX WAS CALLED MADISON ACRES DORMITORIES AND THE GRASS WAS WELL-KEPT AND THE BUILDINGS LOOKED CLEAN. PEDOLO WAS PROBABLY THE YOUNGEST RESIDENT IN THE COMPLEX BY 30 YEARS OR SO. “HOW DID HE END UP HERE?” I ASKED. “He’s got a condition.” “WHAT KIND OF CONDITION?” BEFORE EL CROW COULD ANSWER, HE KNOCKED ON A DOOR AND PEDOLO ANSWERED. PEDOLO LOOKED THE SAME AS I HAD REMEMBERED, ONLY THINNER, WITHERED. AND I HADN’T YET CAUGHT A WHIFF OF ANY BODY ODOR. HE ALSO HAD BANDAGES WRAPPED AROUND HIS HEAD AND CHIN, AS THOUGH HE HAD SURVIVED SOME SORT OF CATASTROPHIC ACCIDENT OR ATTACK. HE AND EL CROW EXCHANGED PLEASANTRIES AND THEN HE LOOKED AT ME, SMILED AND HUGGED ME AGGRESSIVELY. “Manny Furious,” HE SAID, HIS VOICE PITCHED TO THE SAME FREQUENCY AS A CARBON MONOXIDE ALARM, AND AS CLUTTERED WITH AND EASTERN EUROPEAN ACCENT AS ALWAYS—LIKE YOU...

THE BLACK SWAN CAFE A DARK, DINGY CHINESE RESTAURANT IN A DARK AND DINGY PART OF TOWN SERVES DECENT EGG DROP  SOUP AND KUNG PAO SHRIMP TO DARK AND DINGY CUSTOMERS. AND ALSO SMELLS LIKE OLD CARPET. OUTSIDE IT'S A DARK AND DINGY NIGHT WINTER RAIN TRICKLING DOWN THE WINDOWS. AND SUDDENLY: I CAN'T IMAGINE EATING AT THIS KIND PLACE ANY OTHER KIND OF NIGHT.

 LAST EVENING, DURING A WALK, IT STRUCK ME HOW BEAUTIFUL THE DEAD TREES THROUGHOUT THE NEIGHBORHOOD LOOKED AGAINST THE EVENING SKY. SO I TOOK OUT MY PHONE AND STARTED TAKING PICTURES. DON'T DO THIS . I WAS TAKING PICTURES OF A TREE OUTSIDE A HOUSE AND THE OWNER WALKED OUT AND WAS LIKE, "What are you doing here, bro?" AND I WAS LIKE, "TAKING PICTURE OF THIS TREE." AND HE WAS LIKE, "Why? Huh?" AND I SAID, "BECAUSE IT LOOKS PRETTY AGAINST THE SKY." AT THIS POINT HE MUST'VE ASSUMED I WAS JUST HIGH, OR OTHERWISE INTELLECTUALLY COMPROMISED, AND HE SEEMED TO CALM DOWN, BUT JUST TO ASSUAGE HIS FEARS A LITTLE MORE, I SAID, "MY NAME IS MANNY, MAN. I LIVE JUST DOWN THE STREET AT 139. I KNOW IT LOOKS WEIRD, AND I AM A BIT OF A WEIRDO, BUT I'M NOT HAZARDOUS BY ANY MEANS." WE ENDED UP TALKING FOR A BIT, AND HE TURNED OUT TO BE A PRETTY COOL DUDE. ANYWAY, I THINK, "A BIT OF A WEIRDO, BUT NOT HAZARDOUS BY ANY MEANS," SHOULD GO ON ...