Shit Mountain

So I'm posting another song I've written, but I have a decent reason. I wrote this some time ago and now a friend of mine, Michael Glatzmaier, is sometimes using it for his stand-up set. When I wrote it thought I was really super talented, then realized I'm not exactly surrounding myself with Isaac Newtons.

I’m the winning ticket in this massive pile of losers
I’m the smartest guy in this roof of dipshit an idiots
I’m the prettiest girl at this club for bearded women
And I’m the richest fatcat in the entire welfare line

So don’t tell me I’ve got such a great life
I’m just the cream of the crop at the tip of the top of shit mountain

I’m the suavest man at this comic book convention
I’m the sanest patient on this psychiatric ward
I’m the best worker on this here highway road crew
And I’m the freest unbroken horse living in the stable

So don’t tell me I’ve got such a great life
I’m just the cream of the crop at the tip of the top of shit mountain

I’m the most beautiful swan at this filthy ass duck pond
I’m the tallest actor in this production of Wizard of Oz
I’m the most nutritious dish on this fast food menu
And I’m the best lover you ever had

So don’t tell me I’ve got such a great life
I’m just the cream of the crop at the tip of the top of shit mountain Yeah ah ah
I’m just the cream of the crop at the tip of the top of shit mountain Oh oh oh
So don’t tell me I’ve got such a great life.

The Old Man Passes

 Like many people, I have two grandmothers. One passed away over a three year period, slowly wasting away until her last year or so she was reduced to a living corpse. My other grandmother is still very vibrant at 87 years old and I know that one of her worst fears is to not die quickly. 

This is a scene I edited out of my unpublished novel Freedom Weed, but I like it enough to put here.

  In the next room over the old man hacked a long, wet, gurgling cough. Jay looked away from daytime TV lawyer ad and paused to listen. It stopped and the raspy sound of his father’s struggled breaths continued. On the burgundy coffee table in front of him, Jay pushed the empty candy dish and the yellowing doily under it over to the side to make more room for his Beretta. It was a thing of beauty, even when taken apart, the black barrel shone against the Court TV blaring away in front of the living room. It was an old, old TV, encased in wood and 200 pounds of tubes,  knobs and vacuumed gases all to give a lucky viewer a nice 22 inch color screen.
           Jay didn’t really look up as the skinny trailer trash – all dolled up for the television – tried to talk the stocky black judge into letting her keep a wedding ring her ex-fiancé wanted back. Jay didn’t care music for TV – hadn’t even lived with one until he decided to move in with his dad and help him die.
           Mom sure knew how to go, Jay told himself, carefully staggering the bullets into his backup magazine. Three days of saying good bye, then…plop. His dad had been a mess those three days and was of no use – and now he just kept living for some god damned reason that Jay couldn’t figure out. But he couldn’t complain – he took a break from business to take a caregiver class and now twice a month he cut a halfway decent check from good old Washington state for doing nothing other than watching his old man slowly fade. After working for eleven yes in every shit labor job he could find, Jay had saved enough for some nice chainsaws and a truck with trailer. Figuring that if he was going to risk his life every day for some change it may as well on his own terms. Caregiving was another shit-pay job, but it beat cutting down trees for soft-bodied rich people or digging ditches for next to nothing to make some prick rich. Besides he didn’t need much, cleaning out his dead mother’s pistol for the tenth or eleventh time this year gave him plenty of satisfaction.

He thought it’d be nice to burn some money target shooting out in the woods, and besides he felt a hell of a lot more comfortable taking something with him a little more handy than his granddad’s clunky rifle in case he ran up against something he didn’t expect. Good old mama Dennesy had taught him that lesson when he was pre-pubescent on a trip to pick huckleberries in late August where it was so damn hot and dry and itchy the only thing that kept young Jay going was to sneak a few into his mouth every time his hard-ass mom turned her head. When a black bear poked a head into berry patch, Jay’s dropped the berries in his hand, his heart a bass drum in his chest, shaking his T-shirt with every beat. In one smooth, steely-eyed move, his mom reached down by her calf and pulled out the pistol. She shot it once into the bushes near the bear and the timid monster couldn’t run away fast enough. “How bout you quit eatin em so we can hurry this up,” Jays mom said to him without so much as turning her head in his direction. Always best to be prepared.

Like a horrible cuckoo clock, the old man let out another long cough on the half hour.   The TV judge made his verdict and Jay knew it was time to feed his dad the medical goo which barely kept him alive. He put his hand on his fathers greying shirt and shook him.

“Dad. Dad,” Jay raised his voice, “DAD. What do you want chocolate or vanilla.”

“Aaaauuuuggghh,” his father lifted his hand and waved it at cup filled with a sticky vanilla-flavored sludge. He smacked his purple lips and struggled through the flem in his throught. “Jaaay,” he said - a crackling, bubbling whisper.

“Dad? What? Do you want the chocolate?” Jay looked down at his dad’s grey veiny hand grasping his forearm.

“No, Jay.” Each word was barely audible after a deep deep wheezy breath. Jay leaned in to hear. “Jay. Jay.”
    “What dad? What do you need.” for the past three days the old man hadn’t said a word. Jay thought for sure he’d have to call in hospice any minute. “Dad? tell me what you need?”

“Huuu Huuuu,” he struggled, his eyes bulging and shaking in their sockets as he tried to bring his body closer to Jay to utter his last words, “Hoookers.” The old man fell back on to the bed and went limp, the pulse inside his sickly grey skin coming to a slow halt.

Food Diary

I started a food diary and it sort of turned out like this.

A food diary should always picture bacon

Oct. 20th
220lbs
Okay Brad, it’s time. Not gonna gain holiday weight this year. Gonna log all my meals, hold myself accountable.
Breakfast  - Oatmeal
Lunch - ham sandwich, apple
Dinner - Chicken breast salad
Sin of the day (SOD) - handful of M & M’s from a March of Dimes vending machine


Oct 21
219lbs
Second day - pluggin away.
Breakfast - Yogurt with Granola
Lunch - 4 hard boiled eggs and a banna
Dinner - Salad
SOD-VFW vending machine Mike and Ike’s

Oct 23
216lbs
I forgot to enter yesterday, but good livin is paying off! Lost four pounds in three days. Wow!   I think most of the junk food is out of my system. My energy level is really high and I feel really focused. Did an ab workout first thing in the morning. I have a lot of energy. Even though it’s late, I think I’m going to go for a run. Keep it going Brad. You’re doing great!
Breakfast - Egg whites, whole wheat toast
lunch - tuna sandwich, peach, granola bar.
Dinner - Chef salad
SOD - Mentos from the Shriners vending machine. Coffee overload.


Oct 24
No Weigh-in.
Okay I guess it was time for a set back. Had a hard time sleeping last night. Slept through my alarm clock and was late to work, my boss gave me an ass-chewing first thing in the morning. It was NOT a good way to start off so I skipped breakfast forgot my lunch.
Breakfast - skipped
Lunch - Arby’s French Dip
Dinner - Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket
SOD - melted King-Sized Reese’s Peanut butter cup and put in my coffee, 8 Mr Pibbs.

Oct 29
225lbs
Have not had a good past couple of days. Honestly I forgot all about my food journal. I pigged out yesterday at the company Halloween party when Jerry asked me to help set up and we smoked some weed.  Today I tried to get back on the horse, but it’s been tough. I tried to go for run, but kept throwing up bits of the Taco Bell Dorito taco I ate on the way home.

Breakfast - Chex.
Lunch - Okay, this is where things went bad. I had an egg salad sandwich, but ate a second lunch when Jerry offered to buy me lunch. He insisted we go to the Chinese Buffet where he kept daring me to eat things. Not sure what exactly I ate, but he was buying, so I had to eat. The food gave me really bad gas during an afternoon meeting.
Dinner - Taco, but I threw it up.
SOD- Runts and Shockers and Boston Baked Beans from the vending machines at the Less Schwab next to our office.

Nov. 3
220lbs
 
Okay the good news is I lost the weight I gained from binge. The bad news is I’m smoking again and absolutely swamped at work. I’ll do better with my journal this week! Promise! Pinky Swear! You can do this Bradley! As far as the cigarettes go, I’ll quit (again) after this pack. Jerry offered to buy me a beer after work and I confessed I’m trying to lose weight. He said he lost weight using Trim Slim tablets and had some left he’d give me. Score!
breakfast - Tomato juice, cereal
lunch - granola, ham sandwich, banana
dinner - chicken breast, noodles.
SOD - Astro caffeine chocolates from the MS machine

Nov 15
215lbs
I haven’t been good keeping up with this journal, but I’ve been living clean. Except the smoking. I bought a couple packs, but it’s not like I’m smoking all the time. Also Jerry gave me diet pills and they are really doing the trick!
Breakfast - grapes, egg
Lunch - homemade bean burrito, almonds
Dinner - asparagus, 3 pieces of lean bacon
SOD - Red Bull from Soda machine.



Nov 20

212lbs
I’m not gonna beat myself up if I don’t keep with this journal or if my weight is a little off. It’s unhealthy to obsess. I’ve stopped having cravings and started a running routine!  I’m done with cigarettes, but I’m afraid my pills are almost gone. Jerry said they’re banned now. Noooo! I’m gonna miss those suckers when they’re gone! Haha.
Breakfast - 5 Hour Energy, banana
Lunch - forgot to eat - I’m killing it at work.
Dinner - Grabbed a cup of coffee and a steak before I went on a run.
SOD- Two sugar gumballs from Safeway vending machine. They went through an awesome machine. It was AWESOME!!!.




Nov. 29/30

203lbs
OKAY!...... SO! I made it through Thanksgiving without binging. YEAH! Actually I sorta forgot it was Thanksgiving because I was up all night taking apart my Television set. Jerry hooked me up with some new diet pills. THEY ARE THE BEST EVER...
Breakfast - scrambled eggs.
Lunch - Some new guy at work gave me his Pad Thai leftover (score!)
Dinner - Scrambled eggs
SOD - Every Mike and Ike out of that VFW vending machine.



Dec. 20
175lbs
Well I guess I see who my real friends  are. I got fired a week before for “leaving my clients hanging.” Such Bullshit. Jerry split all my old clients with the Pad Thai guy.  Now, when I really could go on a binge, Jerry is telling me I have to pay double for new pills. What a “friend.” Bullshit! I’ll get them somewhere else. I don’t need Jerry, I don’t need a stupid, soul-sucking job or fake friends. I don’t need anyone.
Breakfast - Free coffee at the casino.
Lunch - Bar peanuts. Pretzles, 4 Scotches, remaining pills.
Dinner- Scrambled eggs
SOD - Casino sodas



Sept. 15.
315lbs
Reading this really shows me how quickly things spiraled out of control. I’ve been sober for four months now and it’s time to lose the “recovery weight.” Gonna hold myself accountable! Gonna get through the holidays without any binges. You can do this Brad!

Mario on the Couch

I have to imagine the concepts in this sketch have been covered or made up before. It all just seems so obvious. I thought of this shortly after my son's discovered Mario and his world of mushrooms and mouthless stars.

Also I recently watched Goodwill Hunting.

Okay. Here we go!

Psychiatrist’s office.

Red couch with a chair next to it sit empty. On the door reads Dr. Eggman, Psych.
Dr. Eggman walks in with Mario behind him, takes a seat and and points to the couch.

Dr. Eggman: Take a seat.

Mario: A Thanka’ you.

Dr. Eggman: Go ahead and begin.

Mario: Wella’ first off, lemmee say: a’ Mario really appreeciate a’you come een special for heem.  

Dr. Eggman: It’s no problem, I know you’re busy and I have time.

Mario: Si, Mario’s gotta lotta irons in the fire.

Dr. Eggman takes out  a notepad.

Mario: Well. Here we go. I gotta to getta  alotta offa my chest. You see, I’m a very busy and Mario don’t have the energy I used to. I’ve been ‘a doin’ the same ‘a routine for 25 years. Now don’t ‘a get me wrong--I love to be the hero, but I’m ‘a getting irritated.

Dr. Eggman: What’s irritating you? Some things are out of your control.

Mario: I know, I know, and this isa outta my control. (deep breath) It’s the princess. Now I don’t wanta to blame the veectim, but after so many time, I feel she is want to be abducted. (defensive) I don’t ‘a want to excuse The Bowser, but it is no secret he has ‘a bad inteeeentions and isa not right in his head. I’ma nota sure if he was a born that way or ifa he was touched under his shell when he was a little Koopa, but I’a feel sorry for him. He’s a not okay in his ‘a head. I tella the princess to not ‘a answer when he call, but she still meet him. I gotta the call awaiting for her, but she still pick up ‘a da phone. After a while, I want to just see what The Bowser would a do to her if I just sat at ‘a home.

Dr. Eggman: So do you feel obligated to rescue the Princess?

Mario: Si’ every a’ time she call, I feel I a’ gotta rescue her.


Dr. Eggman: Why is it your responsibility to rescue her?

Mario: Well...The princess, she’s ‘a been very good to Mario and Luigi. (Mario looks at Dr.  Eggman and makes eye contact) She is the only one who know our secret.

(Dr. Eggman raises his eyebrows)

You see--We are not brothers.

Dr. Eggman: No?

Mario: No. We--We are lovers. I have ‘a desire thata burns for Luigi which is a hotter than a any fireball I spit outta my nose. He is the sun, the moon, and the flag at the end of my level. Our love is a one deeper thana any a short-cut pipe. I would give up a hundred coins for the heem.

Dr. Eggman: I don’t think that’s as big of a secret as you think Mario. If you don’t save the Princess and she tells your secret, you may lose some of your following, but think of the freedom you’ll gain.

Mario: Si.

Dr. Eggman: Well Mario, we can’t control the behaviors of others. All we can control is our own little world and you must understand that the Princess is going to eventually have to take responsibility for her own actions. You’re not at fault for her irresponsibility.

Mario: Si.

Dr. Eggman: You hear me Mario? It’s not your fault.

Mario: Si (nods. they both stand) Si.

Dr. Eggman: Mario, it’s not your fault.

Mario: Si. Mario know. (Begins to cry)

Dr. Eggman: It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. (Dr. Eggman repeats until Mario breaks down crying)

END

Car Guys

My first job was detailing cars with a guy who sung along to the Golden Oldies station on the radio while we polished 20-year-old Ferraris for dealerships and sucked puke out of minivans. Now he sells used cars. His hair is bleached blonde and he still chain smokes, but he somehow is not a used car salesman stereotype. He’s not pushy, he’s not cheesy--he’s a guy who’s in business for himself in an industry he knows well.

Combine that job experience with the fact that I wrote this shortly after overhearing a conversation between two businessmen on a plane. They discussed business while one disclosed some pretty personal information to the other.

Buff me. Sell me. 

“Danny?”
“Sorry Bare”
“You all right?” 
“Yeah...Yeah," Dan sat in the chair next to Barry, pulled out out his laptop as if it was nothing more than an extension of his own arm. “Sorry. I meant to get here sooner.”
“No problem.”
“My son got pulled over last night.”
“Yea?”
“Yeah,” Dan sighed. The laptop came to life and he clicked a few keys. “And they had a warrant out for his arrest.”
Barry raised his eyebrows, but kept his gaze on the series of car photos Dan pulled up on the screen.
“Well, not a warrant,” Dan corrected himself, “they got him on a suspended license.”
“Unpaid tickets?”
“They called me and said if I picked him up, they’d let it go.” Dan scrolled down the list of cars at auction and they both scanned from left to right. “So I lost a few hours of sleep over that.”
“No problem.” Barry repeated. He scanned the screen. He was in what he called Vulture Mode.
“I mean...,” Dan continued, “they really like us.”
“Yeah?”
The cops, I mean. Remember when those cops got shot a few years ago?”
Barry nodded.
“My lot up north, we loaned the force a few cars for the funeral.”
“Yeah? What was it you loaned ‘em?”
“Sedans, mainly Camry’s.”
“Those are good,” Barry nodded, “they hold value.”
“And we gave away two to the families.”
“How many miles?” Barry asked without looking away from the screen.
“Only 14.”
“Hmm....new,” Barry hummed quietly.
“So....” Dan slowly began to join Barry, “they.....really like me. They took it easy on him.”
“Yeah. Well....that is a good thing.”
The two men sat quiet for a while, waiting for the right meat to pick off the bone.
“Check it out,” Danny tapped the screen with his pinky. It was a jacked up Chevy 2500 with $5000 rims. Only 45,000 miles.


For nearly an hour the men scrolled through cars up for auction that week in silence, highlighting bank repos and police-seized property. Their headed nodded up and down in vulture mode, hoping to swoop in and feed on some poor sap’s misfortunes