the heat is on

i am an adaptable person.
i am also no stranger to shitty plumbing.
usually, when spectre shitty plumbing rears it's shitty head, i just buck up, adapt, and the world keeps on spinning.
but lately, adaptation has become nearly impossible.
for the first several months of my lease in this building i'd have to let the shower run for a good four or five minutes before the water got even moderately warm (or Skywalker Warm, as i like to call it; don't judge me).
this was a minor shitty plumbing setback and i adapted easily.
but during the past few weeks things have changed.
the water paradigm has shifted completely, and now runs scalding hot almost instantly.
i was not ready for this.
i jumped in without testing the morning waters and i got burned.
jesus ass-fucking christ i got burned.
i'm glad my balls aren't located in the center of my chest, because then i'd be minus two balls and plus one gaping lava wound where my balls used to be.
i actually screamed "YIP!!" at full volume as i recoiled out of the firestorm of boiling death water.
now i'm a reasonable man with passable personal hygiene, but a shower is about more than just soaping up up ones nether regions.
showertime is supposed to be a peaceful, sacred time.
a time for deep thought, for off key Van Halen lyrics.
for a few minutes each day the shower should be a man's personal and private Champagne Room; a mini Eden for one.
not a Chamber of Skin Peeling Lasers.
sure... i could just buck up and adapt to this too, but the water paradigm is changing every few days now.
Tuesday: all scaldy.
Thursday: colder than a dead nun's vag.
this tri-weekly switchover is completley random comes without warning.
and once it's spraying, altering the temp is barely an option; hot stays hot, cold stays cold, no matter which way you crank the temperature controlling knobby thing.
i have to monitor this very closely now.
which is difficult on those gauzy, hungover mornings.
shitty plumbing, you are a wily foe indeed.

a short list of things that could have made today noticeably more enjoyable

• some winged puppies
• more Polaroid film
• a taco within a taco
• a phone call from "Weird Al" Yankovic
• gigantic trampoline
• the answers to life's Big Questions, accompanied with a warm, bubbling sense of calm and acceptance
• suprise costume party!
• suprise costume BBQ party!
• some vigorous fellatio
• that old, red, pedal-brake BMX i had when i was eight
• Journey tickets
• having the stairwell replaced with a series of firepoles (so i could pretend i was Batman and/or one of the Ghostbusters, and maybe, to a lesser degree, a real life firefighter)
• a friendly chimp to drink and laugh with (a sort of "Booze Monkey", if you will)
• Laser Tag
• waterslide Laser Tag
• naked waterslide Laser Tag (naked except for the Laser Tag Laser Sensors of course, otherwise it wouldn't be much of a game of Laser Tag, would it?)
• a serious back-scratching

the 'stache

i have been seriously pondering cutting a mustache.
seriously.
i've been weighing the various pros and cons of wearing a moustache for weeks now, and i'm still on the fence.
Pro: i think moustaches are rad.
Con: i'll probably look like a greasy pedophile.
i've been asking all my friends and advisors what they think and the results i'm getting are completley black and white.
for my male friends the answer is unanimously Yes, cut a stache immediately.
female friends, about 99% say No, don't do it, not ever, we won't talk to you.
the Trannies are still undecided.
why does the moustache carry such a weird stigma for this genereation?
look at our parents generation.
soup strainers everywhere, they were almost mandatory.
think back to when you were a youngster... how many of your friends fathers had staches? i'll wager more than half of them did.
in my whole neighborhood, out of a dozen local dads, only one walked stache free.
and, years later, he turned out to be gay.
but that's neither here nor there.
who was it then, that hijacked the moustache's reputation?
who raped it of it's days of prominence and glory and dragged it into it's current state of mockery, hipster irony and implied greasiness?
was it you Selleck?
Reynolds?
Gene Fucking Shalit?
i'm going to find out.
i'm going to put the crumb duster back on the pedestal where it belongs.
the moustache; not just for pornstars and asshole cops anymore.

crack scratch fever

"i never get to see you anymore. why do you have to spend all your free time in that old abandoned church by the river?"
"if you can think of a better place to run around screaming and practicing ninja kicks wearing my new Batman costume, i'd love to hear it."

bacon, ham or sausage

toast mingles with egg.
bacon cradles hash browns.
coffee sweeps away the dead cells and convinces the survivors they still have a job.
hello Friday.
goodbye logic.
goodbye reason.

sick sick sicks

so this is it.
the sixth day of the sixth month of the (two thousand and) sixth year.
will the legends and warnings of the ancients come true?
is the Rapture upon us?
will the seas boil and the skies bleed?
will good prophets turn evil and lead the faithful astray?
no.
none of this will happen.
all that will happen today is the release of a crappy remake of a crappy horror movie and me getting drunk with Iron Maiden on infinite repeat.
which makes today just like any other.
or so i thought.
moments ago i switched on the radio.
there was a message of evil.
the voice in the radio said: "Casino Nova Scotia presents Kim Mitchell! Canada's most high octane rock and roller!"
i was wrong.
end times are here.
the Antichrist has returned and is so washed up that he's playing in the fucking Casino.
it pained me to hear those words strewn together, physical pain, like having my soul circumcised without proper anesthetic.
even though i know these words are false, i am afraid.
save me Xenu.
save me.

death cab for booty

"look at you. fucking look at you! i knew this would happen. i knew it! you and your fucking booze!"
"hey... this isn't my booze."
S L A P

all those things they say about redheads.
they're true.
batshit crazy.
to the eighth power.
spending a night with this woman wasn't dissimilar to moonwalking through a grassfire wearing dynamite sneakers with napalm soles.
but my god she looked good in a tight pair of jeans.
sure she'd mangle me and i'd curse her name for days, but it somehow seemed worth it during our all to brief episodes of peace.
like when i'd watch her beautiful, drunken body, sprawled across her bed on top of the sheets.
asleep or just unconscious.
her porcelain skin infused with the stray moonlight seeping in through her front window.
watching her as i quietly dressed myself, her chest rising and deflating with each tiny breath.
i'd always look back and smile before slipping out the door.
taking her in one last time, pausing for a moment.
just long enough to grab a fistfull of dollars from the change dish on her dresser.
the bus ain't free sister.

a notice to the tenants of the Hollis St. SouthHampton (in two parts)

part one: sometime last night someone vomited in the stairwell around the fifth / fourth floor (there was some multi-floor drippage)

part two A: it definently was not me
part two B: seriously, i took the elevator last night