I was waiting for the bus after a show, the other night. I want to say it was some time between eleven and midnight, given my level of intoxication and self-doubt. So, my only option for food was the 24 hour Subway downtown, and parked right there by the door was a transient gent watching Netflix on what I can only assume to have been his laptop, and in the moment, I thought to myself, “Priorities.” Because surely, on some plain of reality, food, shelter, or a job application might trump Lady Dynamite.
And I know some people say you shouldn’t give cash to the homeless, because they’ll just waste it on drugs and liquor, but that assumes the average substance abuser would rather spend their time begging for money than die of an overdose behind a strip club, after the best drug binge of their life. And, as a strong supporter of death with dignity, that position strikes me as cruel and inhumane. All the same, I’ve contrived what I believe to be a reasonable compromise: put the money in an envelope labeled with its intended use – be that food, shelter, or Netflix.
Most of my envelopes read “MANICURE,” because surely I’m not the only one to notice the peculiar percentage of transients with long, thick fingernails. So, the least they could do is wash them to reveal the perfect, all natural (or perhaps, drug and liquor induced) French manicure I believe resides just below the fungus.
(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/kreye)
I recently moved into a new apartment, which is great.
I had been living in a house, but I think my poverty made my neighbors uncomfortable. And it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, since me and my five adult housemates lived in the sort of neighborhood where all of our neighbors owned their houses, and cars, and campers, and houseboats, and landing strips.
I imagine them looking out their windows, at me and my housemates, thinking, “These niggas don’t even own a Prius. Look at ’em! Walking. Catching buses. Making us feel bad. I can’t even enjoy my Cognac on the veranda in peace. You know what? Conner! Debbie! To the helicopters!”
(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/murphy)
With so much conflict and turmoil in the world these days, could there be a more serendipitous time to release PokemonGo? What better way to take your mind off racial and nationalistic strife than virtual slavery and eugenics?
I mean, you enter their habitat, track them down, and capture them. Then you breed and train them to fight each other. My only question is how long the debate lasted in the marketing department over whether to call it Pokemon or SlaveFights, and I’m not a particularly smart person, so I don’t know that Pokemon isn’t the Japanese word for “slave fighters.”
(listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/rowell)
Personally, I could never keep an animal in captivity, and I’m not judging anyone else who has a domestic companion. I just personally feel uncomfortable fostering Stockholm Syndrome.
But I do have one exception, and that would be for a corgi. Have you seen these things? I imagine if I had a corgi, I would just spend all my time with that dog, judging it and chastising it for its stupid, little legs. Have you seen a corgi try to chase something? It looks exactly like a Slinky trying to skull-fuck a gopher. I swear to god.
I would love that dog… less and less, everyday, until I just had it put down for no reason.
(listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/valdivia)