From - Wed May 30 13:19:32 2001 Message-ID: <3B14F6C0.3BED6F3@clark.net> Date: Wed, 30 May 2001 09:33:52 -0400 From: Tiny Human Ferret Reply-To: klaatu@clark.net Organization: copyright 2001 all rights reserved -- non-UseNet transmission prohibited. X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.5 [en] (X11; U; Linux 2.2.17 i586) X-Accept-Language: en MIME-Version: 1.0 Newsgroups: alt.gothic Subject: Re: Just a Note, Please Ignore Unless It's "For You" References: <3B04F1C3.328CD6D2@clark.net> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Host: 206.214.47.4 X-Trace: 30 May 2001 09:33:56 -0400, 206.214.47.4 Lines: 133 X-Authenticated-User: tjh22isp Path: vienna7.his.com!206.214.47.4 Xref: vienna7.his.com alt.gothic:791768 --nightshade-- wrote: > > In article <3B04F1C3.328CD6D2@clark.net>, > Tiny Human Ferret wrote: > > > > well, i have no idea who it was "for," but it was nicely formed. Thanks. This is why I don't go out. This was 80s Nite at Club Heaven in Washington DC. This is why as a general rule the people of the Greater Washington Metropolitan Area can go fuck themselves with high voltage. the exceptions to this rule know who they are because they're as miserable as I am for about the same reasons. This was written under the influence of god knows what. In case nobody had gathered it, I am not the same kind -- as in, not the same species -- as these high-eared alien fucks that infest the Capital and act like they think they're fucking gods or something equally as uncaring and unconcerned and unhuman. Sorry folks, I think of myself as a Man and I don't know what the hell these... *people* are. But I know goddamned well what's going on when the bartender serves you in a wide-mouthed glass that he waves in front of the crowd for a full 30 seconds, evidently hoping it will gather some dust, before he serves your ridiculously overpriced drinks. And I know goddamned well -- and you should too -- that this is the reason that for almost 8 years I've maintained http://www.earthops.org/rohypnol.html and http://www.earthops.org/burundanga.html After a few such wee drinkies of cheap rail vodka and whatever fell into my glass while he's waving it around at the crowd of whatevers, I find myself with my back to the wall in the nearest available corner chair, watching the whatevers -- by the end of the night I generally think of them as demons, since generally whatever fell in my glass makes them look about like that -- do a passable imitation of people having fun. One of these nights I expect I'll be there watching them jump up and down and if there really _Are_ Gods and Justice they'll fucking all fall through the goddamned floor like in that wedding video from Israel. But anyway I'm sitting in the corner thinking that of course I'm a fucking idiot since everytime I drink in a bar in the District I get dosed like this and you'd think I'd fucking learn but noooooo, I'm a fucking idiot. Some gal -- who'd probably be semi-cute if her head wasn't morphing like a freakin' electron probability cloud -- sits down next to me and says, "how ya doin' tex' and asks me where I'm from and I tell her "Rockville". Fuckme, I think, not _another_ goddamned replay of http://www.earthops.org/vman.html but yeah, that would be Washington all day long, wouldn't it just. So I say, "Rockville," and she asks, no, where from originally. And I say, born in New Mexico, raised in Rockville, spent a few years in Texas, and she wants to know where, I say four years in Houston in the late 1970s and she looks at me weird but she probably thinks it's just the burundanga in the drinks or maybe she's not looking at me weird and it's just the burundanga making her head morph. Then I say "and almost a year in Austin but I didn't like it much". So she asks me what I did in Austin, she was there and thought it was great, and I said I might have liked it better if I hadn't been homeless. She says something like, you're homeless, and I said, not now I'm not. and then she launches into just about the same tirade as fuzzy pink satan about how the homeless are all fuckups and she'd just fucking tired of them and the goddamned government would better spend their money and better please the average citizen if they just rounded them all up and shot them than with giving them free medical and food stamps and every other damned thing that they only ever abuse. And the government's got no goddamned business spending the taxpayer's money supporting a bunch of lazy bums who won't work etc etc. So I mention to her that on the one hand, half of these people have severe substance abuse problems and if they got rounded up they probably ought to be rounded up and detoxed and sent to training so they could read and maybe do something useful besides scam and wheedle. So for no reason, out of the blue she tells me, hell, she lost her job once and she made rent anyways, damn if she was gonna wind up on the streets and on the public tit, she had something to sell and even though she wasn't raised that way, she sold it instead of losing _all_ respect for herself by becoming a goddamned homeless bum. I told her I guessed she was lucky that she had that option -- one hell of a lot of passable white girls in Washington avail themselves of it, more frequently than most folks want to know -- and shook her hand like a friend who was sorry to hear that but wasn't giving any handouts and told her something about Genesis-18:21-23 with respect to the homeless and went off to get another drinkie, this time _praying_ that it would be dosed and of course it was. So of course I got an empty cup and went to the men's room and drank about ten waters and sat out in the bar waiting for the scopalamine to metabolize and the pemoline to kick in enough for me to get thirsty enough to order a last drink to leave out to collect samples for later pickup and drive home. I bailed out of the place with, as usual, a happy-sounding upstairs bar full of high-eared demons behind me, and spots flashing in the air as the scopalamine wore off as I walked down the stairway and laid my ears back to come onto the streets looking like I had a lick of sense and could walk upright like a Man. Of course the homeless decided I looked rich and easy and having been there myself, I parcelled out what coin remained so that everyone on the gantlet I ran to my truck got their 33 cents. I wound up passing the time while what remains of my liver processed the alcohol out of my system -- leaving me feeling as always defeated and pointless -- preaching a message I didn't believe to the street folks, more for myself than for them, something about how as bad as it seems while there's life there's hope and at least they haven't rounded you all up and shot you like all the yuppies would prefer, perseverance, that's it, just stay alive and persevere and if you want some help just fucking seize the day, just persevere and one day you'll have your chance and just be sober enough to take it when it comes. And so closes another fine example of why I don't leave my goddamned house to sample all the familiar glories of my nation's fucking capital, another night out in the goddamned District of Columbia partying with the godforsaken district denizens ends with me shaking off the effects, but clearly I didn't shake off the effects quite well enough: I went home and posted something that's good reporting but terrible poetry to UseNet at six-AM on a Friday morning. I can only thank some higher power that I didn't have to make any decisions affecting national security that morning, and I can only pray to god that nobody who did was getting served the same drinks as I got the night before. Otherwise their national security decisions will make as much sense as that goddamned poem did. > > --nightshade-- {*twinge* maybe i should pick up writing again. nah.} Hopefully you won't have as bad a reason to write as I did. -- Be kind to your neighbors, even though they be transgenic chimerae. Unless of course they're homeless. Non-UseNet re-transmission of this article is a willful violation of US Copyright Law and the Berne Convention. Statutory damages are $250,000.00 Whom thou'st vex'd waxeth wroth: Meow. <-----> http://earthops.net/klaatu/