I'm tired, I can not put a brave face on it.This is my second day of awake.Doing double shifts is the most surreal thing in the world.It wasn't all bad I managed to get some portrait work sold and the customers seemed pleased enough,I always kinda run away when I hand people their shit because of the slew of onlookers that show up.
Why run away Dan you could make contacts and get more business and...no I COULD get harassed by a bunch o mooch maggots that feel entitled to free shit because of there babies sisters uncles sons,mothers first imperial tattoo wedding banquette ahhh common buddy it's for my tumor!NO,that's final you pay or you fuck right off.everyone wants to go to heven but if it cost money people would just go fuck themselves.
Sorry humanity I don't mean to doubt your good intentions,but i've seen you when no ones looking and your a fucking monster of two faced delights.There are people who would be happy to pay for my work,they pay me , I do them up a few roughs to see what they have in mind,then they get to look at the end and if it's for them they settle up and I haul ass.I don't want fame and fortune it's bullshit I just wanna pay my bills and be left alone,I've gottin pleanty of the celebrity effect from my job,it's a fucking nightmare to have strangers approch you in the store or in the theater to ask if you remember them?or maybe they know a guy who knows you and....screw you connectivity,assholes at my fingertips!See now I've ranted to the end and it's time for sleep ,well if there was a point then i lost it,oh the point is don't draw only to make money and don't be nice just for the sake of pleasing people,if your an asshole you fly that flag high,because being a fake, ass kissing weasel may open some doors,but then your in someone elses house doing what they want and the next thing you know your no longer a comics artist...your a corporate illustrator,drawing silouetted city skylines,medical reference,and knockoff pokemon,it was a low point in my life,chapped lips,money,hey fuck you i hear you "oh complaining about being successful" shut up ya fat shit pigeon,sitting purched atop your bitter tree waiting to rip things up like a rot eating vulture.You can do it too go ...kiss that ass..make good with people at formal fundraisers,it's not rocket science,if you like rulers deadline stress and money it's for you.I'm sorry I really cant hear you and i'm not trying to cut into your underhanded complements and your anger i know those are staples of you diet,who am I to get sick of wonderful humanity,jeez touchy touchy.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Pondering my timid trash habit
It was a Monday. This meant one of two things.Either I was taking out the trash,or I was taking out both the trash and recycling.Of course to average suburban monkey raised to do this from birth it goes without saying. I however was not raised to do this and to me it seems like walking on the moon.
I am never, (no not ever) ready for this ritual.I don't put it out at night because the man I have come to know as "Mad Max" will pull up with his truck of scrap metal looking like he's about to ring a bell in some tower,face always smired with some dark forign substance like he's been lubricating giant gears all day just waiting to pick out select morsels of money rich base metal and cart it off to the base to melt down into (a )mare of that greese of (b) more gears.
He's a hardned servivor and with his honed senses he can always seem to tell when the fat guy across the street is watching him.The old tub will just crack his shutters enough to show a diabetic eye and ol Max will wheel around and give him the "Th' fuck you lookin at this is MINE now civilian" death stare. This never fails to make tub recoil back into his nebby castle o whatsit.
I've seen it play out too maney times and gottin the same look. Like a hyena ready to fight off a lion,as if people have seen this road warrior looming over there particulars and suddenly changed their minds. Argueing with him about the old metal sink,bike frame,of copper scrap.Saddly knowing the calliber of people in this town it would not supprise me at all.
Me I respect this relec from a bygone era when people got all the use out of thier shit before casting it into the "not my problem" . I dont keep him guessing .If I got metal I put that out at night and every time without fail,and not having to search through my other shit he takes it.
However there I am with the enevitable next morning trash hangover sitting just inside the garage door.Max didn't shake every bag checking for metals and the racoon familly didn't molest out the toquito plates form two days ago to eat at the cheese solidified on the paper making some soft of racoon super drug I refer to as "cessogronde" I am under the impression that this perticual familly of raccon imigrated form mexico because they ONLY or for the cesso grande if the right amount of franks red hot is on it.This both makes me seem racist and warms my heart that just mabey a little bit of california has fallowed me to this barren waistland known for zombies both reserected and on crack.
I am never, (no not ever) ready for this ritual.I don't put it out at night because the man I have come to know as "Mad Max" will pull up with his truck of scrap metal looking like he's about to ring a bell in some tower,face always smired with some dark forign substance like he's been lubricating giant gears all day just waiting to pick out select morsels of money rich base metal and cart it off to the base to melt down into (a )mare of that greese of (b) more gears.
He's a hardned servivor and with his honed senses he can always seem to tell when the fat guy across the street is watching him.The old tub will just crack his shutters enough to show a diabetic eye and ol Max will wheel around and give him the "Th' fuck you lookin at this is MINE now civilian" death stare. This never fails to make tub recoil back into his nebby castle o whatsit.
I've seen it play out too maney times and gottin the same look. Like a hyena ready to fight off a lion,as if people have seen this road warrior looming over there particulars and suddenly changed their minds. Argueing with him about the old metal sink,bike frame,of copper scrap.Saddly knowing the calliber of people in this town it would not supprise me at all.
Me I respect this relec from a bygone era when people got all the use out of thier shit before casting it into the "not my problem" . I dont keep him guessing .If I got metal I put that out at night and every time without fail,and not having to search through my other shit he takes it.
However there I am with the enevitable next morning trash hangover sitting just inside the garage door.Max didn't shake every bag checking for metals and the racoon familly didn't molest out the toquito plates form two days ago to eat at the cheese solidified on the paper making some soft of racoon super drug I refer to as "cessogronde" I am under the impression that this perticual familly of raccon imigrated form mexico because they ONLY or for the cesso grande if the right amount of franks red hot is on it.This both makes me seem racist and warms my heart that just mabey a little bit of california has fallowed me to this barren waistland known for zombies both reserected and on crack.
