the adventures keep crashing in waves upon the rain drenched st. augustine …
the crapper room is down to the studs.
it’s funny when you don’t have a toilet. i keep walking to the bathroom with my dick in my hand only to realize the toilet is sitting in my office. then i walk to my office with my dick in my hand. then i walk to the backyard and piss on the cypress tree.
this brings me back to a high point in my life several years ago in topanga when i rented a trailer for $400 a month. it was a really nice place except for the fact that the landlord was insane, my view out the front door was of a retaining wall made of used tires, there was a vicious three legged dog on the property, the toilet wasn’t hooked up to a septic tank so there was no shitting, and pissing required dumping a glass of water down the toilet and letting it all drain off down the hillside via a garden hose. oh, and the hot water heater broke so i had to boil water on the stove in pots and dump it over my head in the shower.
i can remember waking up on a sunday morning after a night out with nader drinking beers in echo park and eating chicken wings at ye ole rustic inn. it was one of those mornings that occurred often back in my drinking and eating chicken wings days. it was one of those mornings when you achieve consciousness and realize that you are practically in the act of shitting just as the first rays of light meet your eyes. for those of us living in the western world, this is usually no big deal. walk briskly to the bathroom. shit. take four advil. go back to sleep for six more hours. it wasn’t like that this morning.
it was a rainy winter morning, and i remember leaping from bed as two urgent thoughts crystalized in my mind: ugg boots, car keys. left foot, right foot, keys, sprinted, fucking sprinted, to my car. raced down the mountain to cafe mimosa where i double parked, and, leaving the car running, sprinted by the sunday coffee crowd (i’ve been awake literally less than four minutes at this point) to the bathroom. luckily it was unlocked, but the light was off, and the switch wasn’t to the right of the door at about chest height where god intended it to be. no time to fuck around with luxuries like light. ray charles shits. i’m shitting in the dark.
and the county’s gonna haul all my belongings away, cause i’m busted …
on a lighter note … this is a muffaletta:
it’s a southern thing … spicey meat, cheese, olives, hot peppers. good. salty as hell, but good. got this one at george’s, also under the perkin’s overpass that i frequent.
getting more coon-ass everyday …
the hurricane gustav emails are circulating. i need to get candles, batteries, some ball bearings, a little league chest protector, 18 inches of black plastic hose, 20 quarts of axle grease, cat litter, road flares, kerosene, two packages of banjo strings, a pint of gin, three kilos of cocaine, and some matches. i also need to fill the tub with water. i’m glad they didn’t haul it off.
Tags: southdowns11 Comments
11 responses so far ↓
love u man, funny as hell, I hope this dr. bullshit is a front for the fiction novel your writing .
Sean
love you, too, brother. this dr. bullshit better be a front for something or else i am screwed! hope the rose city is treating you well. the best days on earth are summer days in portland.
Dude, WTF? That’s a rough transition from your disgusting shitting story to a picture / description of a muffaletta. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat one without picturing you shitting in the mimaso bathroom – yuck. Thanks a lot.
chin, consider yourself saved … if you ever happen live in the south for any length of time in your life, i’m quite confident you will eat yourself to death in a matter of months. taking the muffaletta off the menu will, at the very least, buy you some time. not much, but some …
dude it’s always something with your living condition. either you’re living in a trailer without a shitter and hot water, or you have to walk outside to get to your kitchen, or you have to climb up a ladder to get to your bed, the list goes on…
i know, white, why is that? and what does it mean? will i ever outgrow this?
Saw Dr. Roy yesterday. He sends warm hellos, and he wanted me to pass on a message that he was at your going away party with his kid, but could not find you. I updated him on your adventures, but he didn’t want to check for himself, says he’s afraid of computers. Take care buddy, thanks for the fun reading.
hey brody … thanks for the update. if you see doug again, tell him i’m sorry i missed him and i hope he’s ok. and tell him to stop being a wuss and get a fucking computer already. hope you all are well. look to see you down here sometime soon!
My friend, John Olszewski, sent me your blog. He said some pretty killer things about you and your writing. I can definitely vouch for the writing. I really love this stuff. I’ve been keeping one since earlier this year and I really enjoy it. You’re much funnier than I and that truly conveys. Feel free to swing by mine, but it’s real boring stuff. Don’t drive your tractor while you read it. Danger, Will Robinson! Take care! –Courtney
hi courtney- thanks for reading and for your kind words. i never realized how fun this was going to be until i started doing it either. i will certainly check out your blog, of course after eight hours of sleep and not within twelve hours of taking a subutex/cialis cocktail. that shit can kill you …
Holy Crap, your crapper cannot crap. Or is it, your crapper looks like crap? I kid, I kid, I kid! I can’t wait to see the girl when she comes out of cosmetic surgery. I do hope that your plumbers/bathroom revitializers do not leave you hanging during Gustav. Tell them to fix that shit ASAP!
BTW, I went to text message you right now about another form of crap: “The Humanist Myth” for Costello. Anyway, my phone reformatted itself (because it’s an iPhone and can do what it pleases), so I no longer have your number. Please give it to me again so I can text you my angry thoughts. Or, so we can discuss the crap over much alcohol.
Cheerios!