I don't have a whole lot to write about currently other than the rants I currently have held inside the captivity of my own mind.
Do you guys have the problem of parasitic people sucking the very essence of your goodness from the marrow of your grand spirit? I do.
Currently there is this fuckhead that comes into my world of work on Mondays. He found me via a newspaper article written about me and has latched on. I fear it could be a tapeworm situation. I might have to let it latch on, suck my soul, and then explode it violently in the nearest toilet. He's an older man, early 60's, and has unrequited dreams of being a composer/play write. He's decided to share his ideas with me against my will. I'm a sitting duck on Mondays. I am in entertainment, but on Monday's I'm helping some friends out with their business because they are currently out of the country. I have a handful of Monday's left to "help out with" so I'm going to throw a block party when it's all said n' done.
This old fucker rapes my ear. He is one of those people that is stuck in time. Sort of like Einstein's theory of relative time, being relative to motion... this guy has no motion so time has really crept by aging him ever so much and he's finding himself in 2009- complete with typewriter or as he brags "a word processor,"... and he plans on "making me a cassette of the show music." Fuckin' A.
In my life I've often felt that these outrageous characters were placed in my pathway so that I can have creative comedy fodder for my act. I think that is the best rational way of thinking about it anyway. If I thought the opposite, I'd shoot myself quickly in the face with a paintball gun. I'd definitely die from that, but it would sting really fucking bad until I died... just to get the whole death thing nailed into my soul so that I wouldn't choose to ever come back to Planet Chaos ever, ever, ever, ever again.
This old fucker has a muse. NO, I'm not it. In fact, he sort of tries to insult me in his complements. He resents me because deep down he knows I hate his old ass. I really have no genuine feelings of compassion for him at all.. or his ideas. Anyhow, his muse... yeah that's where I was... About a month ago he showed up ON A MONDAY with a picture of his "production partner" who looked a lot like a 22 year old Nicole Kidman. Not bad. But I realized via psychic ability and context clues(more the ladder) that this chick wasn't his production partner in real life. She was probably pacifying him with "acting" interested in his ideas and he's taken that shit to the Bank du ASSumption. I had the feeling that he was in love with her in a sick muse sort of way... like Selene Dion and her manager that she eventually married so that he wouldn't go Section 8 on her ass. This old fucker I'm having to contend with has a sort of "kill" thing in his eyes. I saw the KILL in him when he came in last week for my regular ear-raping appointment and told me that his "production partner" wasn't really on board anymore in his opinion. When I acted inquisitive about the reasons why he thought this, he said, "Welp, she's gone back to her old boyfriend so I'm (sigh) pretty much sure she's not fully invested in this project anymore... (sigh, grunt, sigh and psycho look)." I checked his ass with logic and said, "why would that make a difference if she had a boyfriend or not or whatever? Is the boyfriend controlling or something?" The he spoke the truth, "well... (grunt sigh) I was sort of (sigh, grunt sigh, grunt) in love with her I guess... but she didn't know that really but well, it's time for me to let her go... I gotta let her go... yep, gotta let her go..." Uh... You better let her the fuck go then! Shit!
It was like she was chained in the basement and he needed to just have some decency and unlatch the bolts that bound her? The fuck?
Anyhow... I shook that tater off and I forgot about his old ass for another week. Then here it is, Monday, and BAM! I was hiding my ass off in a low sitting chair trying to email some stuff out, etc... I had that sense that there was someone sharkin' me from the other side of the counter. All dorsal, all the time. So I looked up(my first mistake) and saw his old motherfuckin' ass and thought, "Oh, right, it's Monday... how I ignorantly forgot about my weekly ear rapist."
Out of his mouth came the following:
"Remember that script? The new one? She's a beauty and I've got it right here. Finished it at 3:30am and I'll make you a copy of it if you are interested. Just read the first page and see if you aren't hooked." (the first page is the title page... so no, I'm not hooked, he's a liar)
He goes on..."No, look at the scene breakdowns and the music list. Right there, no, right there.... (he's pointing and spitting on me as he's insistently pursuing my ear for his rapin')
"The Cole Porter girls I'm calling the Collettes, get it? Cole Porter, Collettes?! (yeah I fucking get it) The character Maurice is after Maurice Chevallier and I thought it was clever that he was named Maurice. But yeah... so my partner and I (basement girl?) are really excited about this. Do you know any producers in town? Do you think Broadway will be interested? Do you have any connections with producers? You know, you could play a part in this thing if it takes off. Tell you what, I'll give you a CASSETTE TAPE of the music from the show. I think you'll like it."
Where do I start with the rant part of this?
1. Of course I know producers, but who is Mr. Broadway?
2. Don't give me a cassette, time child.
3. I wouldn't play a part in this idea fart of yours because by the time you get funding, I'll be deaf from all the ear rapin' that has occurred over the last few months.
I think people are hesitant to really tell this guy to fuck off because he's got a hardened look to him. Sort of an ex-Marine or Drill Sergeant in VietNAM-ish sort of thing about him. Something ain't right about him, that's all I'm sayin'.
What blows my ear raped mind about people like him is that they think people like me would actually give them what they need. I mean, bones for the effort but pills for the mentality of that level of persistence. Honestly- Can't he see that I don't like him? Or is this one of those situations where I'm going to be forced into HULK MODE? I hate being forced into that mode because I'll destroy his sense of reality with a couple of sentences. I don't want to go full Simon Hulk-Cowell on him but I think I might have to.
The lethal part of his mentality or any like him is this: He USED to BE somebody. He was in radio for many years... God knows what happened there but he ain't in Radio no'mo'.
He works retail in a camping store. That goes along with my whole theory of him being an AWOL ex-Marine or having that chick in his basement all rigged up to electrical cords and forcing her to watch 42nd Street all goddamned night. But no worries, he's going to "let her go."
Anyhow... that's my news for today. Stay tuned for more posts of equal or greater value.
-Wendell Binks
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