AnarchoSlacker

So yeah, last weekend I was at the Discount Irregular Organic Foodatorium and Pasta Dispensary here in Brooklyn, and I met a Sri Lankan ex-newsreader now prostitute.  She was bent over a bunch of cans of coconut milk and I thought to myself, “check out the shitter on that critter.”  I followed her on an odessy of lentils, chickpeas, and saffron until she darted toward the checkout counter.  I found her odors of nutmeg, marjoram, and astroglide to be intriguing, so I broke the ice by offering to help her carry her groceries.  She shrieked and sprayed me in the eyes with mace.  After I fell over and started crying, she realized that I’m a sensitive guy, so she helped me up and washed my eyes with unsweetened yogurt.  We sped off into the night on the B71 bus, her hand in mine, and my hand on her glorious left boob.  On the bus she told me about the tea plantations of Ceylon and the bus terminals of Newark.  She’s so cool, because she traveled the world ‘n shit.  I put my head between her breasts and she told me that she needed help.  If she didn’t sell enough issues of Vibe magazine, her pimp would send her and her family back to Bakersfield, CA where she would languish beneath the orange trees and In and Out Burger franchises.  I vowed to help her make it in New York, just like I did… by putting coffee to cup.  That night we made love passionately… or at least I think we did.  The plastic bag she stretched over my head made me pass out.  In the morning, I awoke to find that she had stolen my wallet and defecated in the corner of my room, and not in the potty bucket, like I asked her to.  I just don’t get it.  Every time I invite a Southeast Asian prostitute back to my squat, something bad happens.  Granted, it wasn’t as bad as the time one of them bit me and tried to set fire to me while I was sleeping, but what gives?  Well, I have to get off to work.  It’s hard to do what I do, because I’m an expert barista.  Only I know the right combination of bleached flower and sweet and low to put into the lattes.  Oh, and by the way, they’re letting me use the microwave again after I scavenged a new talking feather to replace the one I might have tried to smoke after licking a cane toad.

Peace!

So yeah, I was hanging out with MacKenzie and my new girlfriend Flower and she said she would make us some dinner.  We were going to go out to eat, but the Burger King is a fascist dictator who won’t be happy until he’s assassinated Mayor McCheese,  brutalized the Hamburglar, and enslaved all of the fry guys.  It’ll happen because Anderson Cooper said it would.  Flower hit a fry guy with her VW Microbus a couple of weeks ago, and we nursed it back to health.  It could have been a possum, but it’s all cool.  So yeah, Flower was going to make her favorite tofu with soy-cheese and bean-curd on the side, but we were out of tofu.  While MacKenzie was looking through the cupboards he found a jar of blue play doh and told Flower that “play-doh” was oriental for “special blue tofu” and “non-toxic, ages 3 and up” was Nepalese for “cook before serving.”  Flower fried the play dough in sunflower oil and melted the soy-cheese over it and served it to me.  I was so buzzed I thought that the blue color was part food coloring and part hallucination.  I ate most of it before I noticed the plastic jar it came in on the floor.  I yelled at her, but she started crying frantically and began burning her cookbook on the gas stove.  The smoke spread into the living room and now everything smells like a diarama fire.  MacKenzie thinks it’s funny, but I crapped blue for the last week, and I can’t feel my pinky fingers.  He thinks I brained my damage, but I think the damage was from all of the hammer blows my last girlfriend inflicted against my skull.

Peace!

So yeah, at work we are having a mandatory diorama competition, so mine was of the four food groups.  I used glitter n’ shit to make it all sparkly, but MacKenzie still says it looks like a Tijuana abortion.  He can be a real dick sometimes, especially since his was of the original cast of the Golden Girls.  I wish that I could do something like that, but nobody ever lets me discuss my ideas because they’ll never hand me the talking feather.  My boss is pissed at me too, because after MacKenzie poured malt-o-meal into my diorama, I put it into the dishwasher to make it clean.  It caught fire during the dry cycle and burned up some of the kitchen.  Now we can’t sell pita sandwiches anymore, because all the tasty filling went up in the diorama fire.  Now we have to sell panini sandwiches, whick sucks, because they were invented by facists.  Well, I’m going to go burn a sandwich simultaneously on both sides.

Peace!

Dude, it’s totally May Day and I’m so pumped about the international labor movement.  I just got a job at the coffee shop around the corner from my cardboard box.  It’s called “I Shot Fred Mertz” and our secret is that we put flower in the coffee because my boss is a free spirit.  His name is Whipperwhirl and he lives in a white Ford Econoline van.  So yeah, I’m totally cool with my job, even though the wheels of capitalism are greased with the blood of the workers.  I’m still a slacker.  I totally look cool in my The North Face jacket when I dip my head any say ‘hey’ when I hand people their cups.  It’s not like I’m a button-down worker bee or anything.  Whipperwhirl said he might let me work the espresso machine next week if I keep my fingers off his santizer.  Last week I put some eggs in there and they es’ploded.  I had to contemplate the luminous while sitting in the decision corner and wearing the dumbass hat for being a dumbass.  I have to go and clean the egg out of the kitchen appliances with a n-tip.  We don’t use Q-tips because they’re made by facists.

Peace!

  Dude, Quinoa is totally dope.  It’s an Incan grain that we sophisticates eat.  It’s really healthy because it’s a whole protein.  It’s full of vitamins and minerals and other stuff like fiber and niacin.  It’s totally cool becuase you can boil it with cranberries or frankenberries.  I’m eating healitier these days, becuase I think that we would all be better off if we ate more better.  I like quinoa because it’s not processed by the big corporations and filled with corn syrup or shit like that.  I bought some at the organic food market, because I’m not allowed to shop at Whole Foods anymore.  Those people are facsits, because they wouldn’t take my used hat to pay for the eggs I wanted to buy.  I only wore it for a winter and it smells pretty new, and there were only a couple of holes in it.  That, and MacKenzie kicked me in the balls there another time and the manager yelled at me.  So yeah, I went to the organic market and it was totally dank.  I bought some pachouli oil too so I can smell as slacker as I look.

Peace!

So yeah, I went to whole foods with MacKenzie today to get some Smirnoff ice for st. paddy’s.  We were going down the frozen aisle to get some organic munchies and MacKenzie stopped me.  He told me he had a really kick-ass zen buddhism trick he wanted to show me.  We went to the entree fridge and he grabbed a farm-raised, organic tofurky.  He handed it to me and told me to raise it above my head and concentrate.  So I was holding the tofurky high above my head concentrating on metaphysics ‘n shit, and I felt a really really sharp pain in my groin and I flew backward a few feet.  I thought I had attanied enlightenment, but I thought enlightnment  wouldn’t make my junk hurt like that.  Then I saw MacKenzie laughing at me, and I realized he had kicked me in the crotch like Brett Farve punting a football.  That guy can be such a dick sometimes.

If that wern’t bad enough, I took a tub of organic ice cream from the freezer and put it against my sack to keep the swelling down, and the manager came out and called me pervert.  I told him I wasn’t trying to put my dick into Ben and Jerry’s I was just trying to sooth my balls.  He grabbed me and threw me out of the store and I landed on my junk.  That manager was totally a facist.  The joke’s on him though, because I stole a Bert’s Bees lip balm when we were entering the store.  Take that facist, I’m fighting back against your hate crime!

Peace!

So, yeah, I totally hate Old Navy because it’s a store for posers. Everyone is so immature and they totally play establishment music. It’s all trip hop and stuff like that. That, and there are so many kids there. That’s why I shop at the Gap. They’re the store for members of the sophisticated intelligentsia like me. They cater to my educated interests, with their light pastel colors and computer-generated smooth jazz. Yesterday, I bought myself a new pair of unisex overalls. They make me look so ironic, because I’m not a farmer! Dude, I’m so ironic, I’m Kafkaesque! That, and I think that unisex clothing represents the universality of humankind. I think we get too hung up on labels like “ladies petite” or “maternity.” Dude, they’re just labels and by wearing unisex clothing, I’m doing my part to fight the gender-stereotype establishment. I can feel as masculine or as pretty as I want by wearing nothing but androgynous overalls.

So, yeah, I gave myself a tattoo today with crayola black marker ink and a sewing needle.  I thought it would totally be cool to have the words “carpe carnitas” permanently stained down the length of my index finger.  It’s totally rad, because it’s all red and swollen, and all of my friends think I should rub more alcohol into it.  This zen-appliance-healer named MacKenzie told me that I should rub alum and bizquick powder into it five times a day while facing Bentonville, Arkansas.  He’s totally cool, because he fixes toasters by asking the owner questions that have no answers.

I can’t wait to get my next tattoo.  I might get my sister’s name etched on my neck, or a unicorn above my ass crack.   My sister loved unicorns, and her name.  I lost her recently, when she wandered out of the hot topic and we don’t know where she went.  She had the car, so I think she might have just forgotten I was there.  She wouldn’t abandon me at the mall, would she?  I think it’s because she’s deaf, so she has problems reading things and she always tells people I’m not related to her.  I think her deafness causes memory problems.  I used to hear her make some weird moaning sounds when I lived in the room next to hers at my mom’s house.  I had to move out, because mom is totally a fascist.  She kicked me out just because I sold her porcelin dog statute for pot.  What a fascist.  Well, I need to find some fresh newspapers to sleep on, so later.

Peace!

So today I was digging in the garbage looking for food when I met Boyd. I’m pretty sure he’s a prophet. He told me all the things I knew to be true. I was destined for greatness. Boyd said that the pink boys are coming and I’d better prepare for battle cause the shits coming.

Boyd had some pills so we went to Subway and took them with a Cherry Coke. It was an awakening experience. I think I saw the face of God in the side of my BMT. He called out to me and said I had to go. But where should I go? About that time the manager started harshing our mellow and threw us out and said he didn’t want to see us around anymore. He hit me with a broom.

The cops showed up and we ran, but Boyd didn’t make it. He tripped and fell, I saw “The Man” grab him and throw him into the squad car. He sacrificed himself so I could be free. I’ll always have a special place in my heart. I think I know what it must have been like for the followers of Jesus watching him getting crucified.

So yeah, I had to go to the hospital last night.  My girlfriend and I like to experiment when we get it on, so we usually get stoned and then we do some kinky stuff with some toys.  Well, while we were playing last night, she went into the bathroom and smoked a bunch of PCP, and then she tied me to the bed and started slapping me.  She really started acting weird, so I told her to slow down.  She then put a bungee cord around my neck and grabbed my Darth Vader Pez dispenser and plunged it into my anus.  It was kinda alright until she twisted it too far and the head came off and became lodged in my rectum.  The sharp pieces lacerated my, well, you know and I started bleeding real bad.  The pain was so intense that I passed out.  Later, after she came down, she called an ambulance and they took me to the free clinic.

The doctor says I should keep foreign objects out of it, but who is he to dictate what goes into my anal aperture.  Dude, he was totally a fascist.  He said that my girlfriend should get drug treatment and shit, and I said fuck that noise.   Now I’m not allowed to poo for a week, so I have to drink Dr. Pepper and not sit on anything for at least five days or at least until the leakage stops.  so yea, I’m going to use the time to work on my novel.