Archive for December, 2009

I knew something smelled funny. Riding the blue-line as I ate my sandwich, my nostrils flared with the smell of vinegar and other various spices. I looked down at my ham and swiss, as if to say, “Hey, Mr. Sandwich, I have a query.” But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I lifted the top of my bread to see if some sadistic sandwich maker had said to him self this morning “I’m gonna get the first sonofabitch who asks for Black Forest Ham instead of Honey and slip him a garlic dill.” There was nothing there but meat, cheese, and mustard.

For a moment, I smiled thinking about how happy mustard made me feel, but then I was quickly brought out of my bliss by the offensive odor wafting past me again. Starting to get desperate, I rummaged through the paper that wrapped my sandy. Cursing the god of deli meats and breads, I nearly screamed “I am here to stand in defiance of any god who would dare slip me the pickle!” Again, nothing was there, left there by god or otherwise.

My rage built, “There must be a fucking pickle around here somewhere,” I grumbled. Thinking that I was going to grab it and toss it across the rocking car, or throw it out like a bomb when the train had reached a destination and its doors opened, I started gasping for any air that didn’t have the aroma of over-fermentation. “Fuck, I think I smell cloves. What kind of pickle is this?”

Right after I said this, and as I looked up and around in a panic, I noticed a man standing next to where I was sitting with an unusual bulge in his pants. My nausea reached a new height. What kind of sick bastard rides the train with a pickle in his pants? Right when I noticed his bulge, he put one of his hands into his pocket and, moving more toward his crotch area, casually adjusted the bulge.

The train stopped and the woman who was sitting next to me got off. The man with the bulge sat down next to me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, and the smell only seemed to intensify now that he was sitting right next to me. I thought that if I could just get my hand in his pocket… Fuck! What the hell was I thinking? You can’t just go up to some stranger and put your hand in his pocket. I’m not even sure you can do that to someone you know.

What choices did I have? I still had ten minutes until my stop. There was no way I was going to survive with this pervert’s protruding pickling protuberance prominently pushing proudly.

“Why don’t you just ask?” He leaned in towards me.

Apparently, he had noticed that I was staring. My legs went numb, like I had just been caught masturbating by my grandmother. No, this was worse. I looked up at him with my eyes wide. The fact that he was smiling made me even more nervous. With little hesitation, I said ” Fine”

I cleared my throat and blinked as if I was preparing to say my last words for the firing squad. Then, I just came out with it.

“Is that a pickle in your pocket?”

He smiled.


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John breathed a sigh of relief. His back was still sore and his head was still pounding when they brought him back to Galt’s Gulch. Stretching out his back, he reached between his legs and rubbed his crotch vigorously. Before he got too aroused, he ceased his rubbing. It was then that he realized that he was being closely by Dagny. When she  licked her lips, he starting getting harder. Then he realized that they weren’t the only two around.

Every one else was there. Calvin, Quentin, Larry, Mrs. Bill, Dr. Tommy, King Midas, The Judge, Little Dwighty, and Inferno Ellis were all there staring at him like he just farted in their corn flakes. He was glad that they had gotten him away from that torturing do-hickey, but he had wished that it had time to penetrate him just a little bit deeper before they did.

He decided that a speech was in order. He had been working on one, it was a long one, but it would definitely put some people in their place…

…to be continued.

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Eat The Rich

Alone, on my long ride home, during my senseless ramblings, I think I came upon a realization. Before anyone decides to kick me in the balls, please realize that I am speaking in general. When people regard others who are on welfare,  they regard them in a distasteful manner. Some bring up the imaginary “Welfare Queen” who drives her Cadillac to pick up her welfare check, while popping out babies so that she can get a better cut. I am biased in this because both my mother and my wife were at some point in their lives both on welfare. This is not to say that there are not people out there who take advantage of our welfare system, but I would argue that there are not nearly as many as most would perceive.

Hold onto that thought.

On the other end of the spectrum, you have the ultra-dirty-filthy rich. Y’know. The ones who take private jets to their private restaurants to eat, well, privately. There are many of these who take advantage of our tax system. Warren Buffet recently remarked on the 46 million that he made in 2006 that he paid a substantially less percentage of his earnings in taxes than his frikin’ secretary did. Now, Mr. Buffet didn’t do anything illegal. He just did what thousands of other richies do every day, utilize the tax system to their best advantage.

Bring back that thought from earlier.

Here’s where the contrast lies. In both examples, someone is taking advantage of the system. Both are doing so legally, but one is looked at with utter contempt while the other is looked as a smart businessman. Not only is our system specifically set up to benefit the rich, but our perception is as well. I would even argue that there are more people who are ashamed of taking welfare, even if it is needed, as opposed to those who utilize all of the tax loopholes to absolve themselves of the responsibility of having to pay for their fair share of the commons.

Just a thought.

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Find those beautiful things

Where they sometimes get lost

In the things that die

They’re hard to find

But they’re there

In those lost loves

And those lost friends

Even in savage things

Dark and frightening

In war, in murder, and all things death

In struggle, in slaughter, and perish

Those beautiful things still stay

Hiding, waiting to be found

That weeping mother

That orphaned son

That smile under empty eyes

Those beautiful things are there

In the space between

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Man and Dirt

Pull in sandy breath

And let it fill the dry cracks in your lungs

Let it give you your grainy words

And find a proper place for your speeches to take root

Among the fertile remnants of the lost and the rot

Please don’t forget the queries of your muddied mind

Wherever you decide to grow

Please remember to ask the dirt

‘Am I still dust’

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Oh sweet cheeseburger

Your crumbly meatiness

Your runny cheesiness

What kind of bastard forgets the pickles!

I sink my teeth into your buns

Yours is the sweet savor that I savor

Tangy condiments only serve you more

I said hold the mayo you savage!

Oh bring your juiciness unto me

Let it drip down my chin

And soak into my shirt

God help you if there are onions!

I can have you my way

But I am truly yours

As I sway with you in flame broiled ecstasy

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This is not going to be anything new for anyone. I am utterly confused by what is going on in washington right now. Everyone thinks they have it all figured out. The far-left thinks that Obama has betrayed us in favor of the big health-care companies, while the far-right think that he is still trying to push a Socialist Agenda (I wish!!!). The truth, I think, is somewhere in the middle. Obama has to work within the confines of a system that has be been in place, arguably for thousands of years, where the people with the most money have the most power. That isn’t to say that he can’t get real change done, it’s just that he needs our constant support in order to do it. Now, it may be possible that he has sold us out, and I don’t have a good argument otherwise. The only thing I have is faith. I know what you’re thinking, “But Marc! You don’t have faith in anything. You’re even suspicious of the laws of gravity!” I say to these nay sayers, “Stop saying your nays.” Everyone has faith in something. For some, their faith is god. For others, it’s that nose rings make a bold statement of independence. Well, I guess that we all have to have faith in something. I’ll just keep sitting here, keeping faith in a hope that may never come.


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