Two phrases that should never be heard back to back.

There is something somewhat liberating about not having a car. Something zen. Sunday my car began to sound like a diesel and by monday it was dead. The head gasket I think.
With my car incapacitated I have had no choice but to ride the city bus. An amenity that is free just by flashing my student I.D.

Possibly the most synthetic environment that I have ever been in, nothing on a city bus exists in nature. Everything is so incredibly sterile and cold. Apsects that are only fully accentuated at night when the lonely blue glow of the single-strip fluorescent lights is the only light available. The lighting sets a mood that seems to be what the directors of modern japanese horror films have been aspiring to but have been continuously falling just short. It is a feeling of utter desolation.

My travelling companion last night was Nina. A beautiful dark-skinned girl that I met at the bus stop. She boarded the bus to ride downtown to surprise her boyfriend at work and I boarded mostly just to ride. The shitty electric glow from above emphasized her purple hair and the fact that she seemed utterly detached from the world. And who could blame her? The bus is always a very surreal experience.

I looked up on March 24, 2006 at 7:43PM to read the electronic sign that scrolls the time an date: "November 7, 2025 8:43PM".

This weirdness caused me to have a flashback to the night before which was, coincidentally, my WaveTransit deflowering. When I boarded the bus, so did a handicapped elderly gentleman in a Hoveround. He was mumbling barely coherently while the bus driver was securing his chair to the chassis of the bus and responding to all of his questions in an extremely patronizing and insincere tone. He mumbled vague directions to the bus driver who, in turn, dropped him off on the side of the road in one of the few locations where the sidewalk is what I would refer to as "imaginary". As we sped away I looked back to see the man, heavy on the throttle of his chair, kicking up dust while spinning around in tight circles trying to figure out a way off the curb.

At the next stop we dropped off a man who, upon his exit, turned around, and with a flambouyant gesture that conjured up images of Nixon on the steps of Air Force One, said "God bless everyone on this bus." Moments later, some drunken NASCAR fan stumbled into the only available seat which happened to be next to me. He smelled like a locker room that had been freshly cleaned with malt-liquor. Or perhaps some back-woods moonshine still hidden away in a barn frequented by livestock. The next passenger to board was a feeble old woman with a definitive limp. The drunk stood and surrendered his seat to the woman and someone in the back said "Oh... A gentleman and a scholar." I am not sure if it was the "gentleman" or the "scholar" part that set the man off but his response was a sweeping gesture with his middle finger and the phrase "I WILL FUCKING KILL EVERYONE ON THIS BUS!" This caused a slight tension in the atmosphere of the otherwise cheerful bus. The woman chuckled a little causing the drunk to spin around, middle finger still raised but now gesturing to the length of it, and say "See this?!? This is how far I have to go to kick his ass!" (motioning now to the man who implied that he was polite and well educated, both of which turned out to be incorrect assessments).

I can imagine that the bus is prone to many fights. It is a very hostile environment. The foreign, unnatural electric glow. The whole world wooshing by just outside the windows and the only constant is the little, pulsating ribbon of concrete created by the curb. There is a sense of invincibility. All of the cars on the road seem to be submissive to you and your seemingly infinite momentum. The whole behemoth shakes violently even on the smoothest of asphalt. It is like riding in a rodeo with some Parkinson's Diseased bull.

Peacewalker: The murderous pacifist.

The flier read:

"Peacewalker"
The Peacewalker, Mike Oren, has been on a quest across America. The goal he has is "Peace for all Mankind." The Peacewalker survives on public donations from Americans and people from other countries. The Peacewalker has logged (walked) 2500 miles, originating in San Bernardino on September 1, 2004. The Peacewalker is making a bid for the "Presidency of the United States" in 2008. Again, any donation is greatly appreciated. The Peacewalker be in New York in June 2006.

Politically enthusiastic yet "completely incoherent," Peacewalker will threaten to kill "you" in a parking lot either through "the use" of firepower or "blatant abuse of" quotation marks. He was a bearded man who staggered into the Gypsy sometime while I was visiting my beloved Erin. I had gone to her apartment to watch Team America: World Police with her and returned to the Gypsy feeling rather nice. When I walked in the door, Peacewalker was sitting at a table having a seemingly in depth yet one-sided conversation with a drunken leprechaun.

He was rather annoying and slightly belligerent yet mostly harmless until a marine dissagreed with him just four feet to my right. This resulted in a somewhat underwhelming storm of unorignal profanity on the part of Peacewalker that consisted mostly of the word "cocksucker". He then spit in the marine's face; an action that he quickly punctuated with a brief burst of obscenities. I could tell that the marine was willing to overlook this action. Kudos to you, marine. But then things went downhill when Peacewalker went all Jack Frost on the marine and bit him on the nose. Seconds later Peacewalker was airborne after being pushed into a newspaper rack which was directly in front of my feet. By the way, if you bite a marine in the face and all they do is push you down, then he was being polite.

Bob, who was standing on my left side, politely ordered Peacewalker to leave. Peacewalker replied with a string of repetitive "cocksucker"s that sounded almost like a George Carlin CD skipping. At this point I decided to bend down to straighten up the newspaper stand. An action that saved me from yet another head injury seeing as Peacewalker was on my left and the marine was on my right and, had I been standing, my head would have been directly in the path of the chair that Peacewalker launched at the marine.

I very calmly straightened the paper-stand and put the chair back in place while Bob took control of the situation and told Peacewalker many times to leave. Peacewalker once more utilized his favorite word in sparatic bursts as if he were a semi-automatic profanity pistol. Bob stood his ground physically and verbally while I, Brandon, Andrew and several others took a single step closer in case we were needed to subdue this raging pacifist.

Our assistance was not needed as Bob was able to convince Peacewalker that he should wait outside either for a cab or for ...ever.

When a medium-build man who looks like he was kicked out of ZZ-Top for being too intense asks you to do something, it would most likely be unhealthy to deny that request. Peacewalker reluctantly obliged and peppered his exit liberally with subsiding aftershocks of profanity.
Good luck with your political career Peacewalker.

Reacclimating myself to warm weather and sobriety.

I had been drinking quite a bit so when the little pixie sitting on the couch asked me to "have some chips and salsa" I was far too intoxicated to pick up on the numerous hints that she was dropping that there was more than tomatos and cilantro in there. Five minutes later we had polished off the majority of the salsa and thats when she pulled out the small bag of psychedelic mushrooms and added some more.

It dawned on me instantly what I had just eaten. There was no going back. Just enjoy it. Fighting it will only end in tears.

So I stood up and began to wander around. Feeling a bit ansy. Near the door I bump into the pixie again. She nods to her friend sitting near the bar. "We are going to Carolina Beach" she said. Then she grabbed my hips and pulled mine to hers. "Wanna come?"
Had I been thinking clearly, I would have said "I think I just did." But instead I eeked out a meager "Yes. Yes I would."

Once in Carolina Beach, we had to steal some fire wood for the bonfire. This seems to be a recurring theme in my life. We hit up two home renovation sites for splintered pieces of lumber left by the side of the road either for the garbage man or some creative drunk driver.

When we got near the area where our driver wished to park there was a car behind us with a police cruiser behind it just to act as the caboose of our shitty little train of illegality. When we go to pull off to the side of the road the cops lights come on. A shockwave of tension shot through the car due mostly to the fact that everyone in the car was doing something strange and illegal. We were relieved however, when the car that was immediately behind us rolled by us on the left side and the car was so smokey on the inside that it looked like it was filled with milk. Yay for stoners saving the day. The cop followed them up to just in front of us where he pulled them and began frisking them nearly immediately. We placed a call to someone out of the beach with 4X4 to come pick us up. Meanwhile we watch as another police cruiser arrives on the scene. By this time the salsa had kicked in and I felt like a kid in a candy store but instead I was an adult watching blue, flashing lights.

The Jeep eventually arrived and we began the surreal process of unloading half a house worth of stolen lumber into the back of a Jeep just 20 feet from two excited police officers. It was such a sublime feeling knowing what I was doing and knowing that they would never fuck with me. Cops are much like hyenas. You are ok doing anything around them as long as they already have something tasty to chew on.

Back in the Jeep we were about to hit the sand when the little pixie crawled into my lap. The Jeep accelerated to what was probably an unsafe velocity considering that the sand was very uneven.

Dip. Dune. Airborne and I am trying my damnedest to keep the firewood, the pixie and my mind entact.

We reached the bonfire which was surrounded by a wide variety of jocks, punks, hippies, and yuppies. All cool people in their own respects. Me and the pixie stole a little board that we made our own and used as a bench between the fire and the ocean where we sat and shared a bottle of wine.

Our board was later stolen and used as a sort of Dollar-Store version of a bed of hot coals for walking across the fire. Some guy kept jumping face first into the dirt.

The fire seemed to match everyones energy level as they both tapered off toward 5 AM and people started to crawl into vehicles to hunker down for the night like large, drunken bears settling in for hybernation.

Me and my pixie stole away to the back of a total strangers Jeep Wrangler where we lived until sunrise. No sleep although the pixie did seem to nod off somewhat just before dawn. It was adorable. I kinda wanted to feed her a carrot or some lettuce but then I had flashbacks to my neighbor drop-kicking a hamster into a tree because it bit his daughters finger. So once my mind had effectively shat all over that otherwise cool moment I decided it was time to call into work and tell them that there was no way in hell I would make it there in an hour.

I left a message:

"Yeah, hey. This is Seth. I am not feeling good at all today so I doubt I am gonna make it in on time. I will try to make it in as soon as I feel better. Thank you."
When the message was played in my boss' office you could very clearly hear the gentle crashing of ocean waves in the background. Other than my blatant bullshit about sickness the whole thing sounded like a Corona commercial. The reason being because when I left the message I was staggering down Carolina Beach wearing only one shoe and not really giving a damn about the whereabouts of the other; holding my cell phone to my ear with one hand while the other was wrapped around a half-full bottle of wine that I had been drinking while waiting on the answering machine to pick up.

Politically unaware cops are both scary and comforting.

So today at work I had just clocked in after being late by an entire shift when a police cruiser pulls up. While I did end up sleeping a bit this morning it was not nearly enough and thus I could see sobriety looming on the horizon like some urine saturated rest-stop on a long interstate drive. But I wasn't there yet. "This will be fun", I thought.

I managed work myself into a position where I would be the one to wash the cruiser. Not a very difficult thing to do at a carwash where the vast majority of the employees, due to confrontations in the past, find being in close proximity to a cop car somewhat less than magical.

While I was drying the car the cop came out and began to waddle awkwardly around the car. Inspecting my work. He was the stereotypical cop. Complete with buzz-cut with moustache. Jaw moving independently of all brain function to chew a withered piece of gum that is probably only removed on occassion to temporarily make room for donuts. Showtime:

Me: "Hey man, hows it goin'?"

Pork: "Pretty good man. Gotta get it cleaned up for inspection tonight. They'll be doing the White Glove exam tonight."

Me: (under my breath) "That sounds kinda dirty."

Fatback: "Huh?"

Me: "What?"

Awkward silence...

Me: "So, looks like the Patriot Act is going to become permanent. Its renewal and permanence passed congress and you know that G.W. isn't going to veto."

Bacon: "Eh... I haven't really kept up with it."

Me: (under my breath) "I am sorry, I think I just shat myself a little."

Tenderloin: "Huh?"

Me: "Nothing. Nothing at all."

President Fife

While I can find many parallels between our current president and the loveable TV fuck-up, Barney Fife, I can only find three real points of difference:

1) Barney had good intentions.

2) When Barney fucked up, the only thing in jeopardy was the wellbeing of Aunt Bee's pies, or
perhaps the that of the local drunk, Otis.

3) The people around Barney were smart enough to only give him one bullet for his revolver.

Since the first point is a rather plastic one and I dont really give a shit about pies right now, I will concentrate on number three. You can add one more bullet to this retards revolver because as of today, the Patriot Act is here to stay. Which means that now, law enforcement around the country have all of the time in the world to abuse their newfound power. You remember that kid that you stole cookies from in kindergarten? Well he remembers you, and you better pray to whatever deity is convenient to you that he did not grow up to become a cop.

Welcome to a new era. One that doesn't know the meaning of the phrase "illegal search and seizure". One where the antiquated phrases of yesteryear such as "witch" will be replaced by "terrorist". Instead of being burned at the stake, they will be watched. Listenned to. Observed if you will. Eventually to be blatantly searched and possibly jailed. Welcome to 1984. Cameras everywhere. Why would the government be interested in me taking a shit? For the same reason I used to be able to talk my way out of traffic/parking tickets when I had short, respectable hair. For the same reason you never see two police cruisers with lights flashing on the side of the road behind a Jesus-Fish-laden mini-van.

Why is he still in office? Why does noone seem to care that he is chipping away at the system of checks and balances; nullifying large chunks of the Constitution?

Don't piss off any public official or even anyone who stands a chance of becoming one. You are electing gods now.

"Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both."- Benjamin Franklin

-SLP