Before we go through the final day of the trip, it's time for the couple-of-posts overdue 100th post super fantastic party celebration extravaganza - 2014 edition! My plans were massive for this, but then I remembered - I don't even like any of you, why should I make any effort whatsoever to please you? I work my arse off to give you a daily dose of entertainment and laughter, often at my very own expense and you don't give a shit for any of it, you just skim read the fruits of my labour and are too fucking busy to stick a three minute song on to encapsulate the mood I've worked so hard to create, when I spend sometimes considerably longer than is healthy picking a song that's fitting, enjoyable and humorous all at the same time. Yes, well, of course, that is just the sort of blinkered philistine pig ignorance I've come to expect from you spoonfed, infantilised idiots. You sit there on your loathsome, spotty behinds squeezing blackheads, not caring a tinker's cuss about the struggling artist. You excrement! You lousy, hypocritical whining toadies with your Netflix-ready TV sets and your Tony Jacklin golf clubs and your bleeding nonsensical, unfunny acronyms! You wouldn't let me be part of your Facebook group, would you, you blackballing bastards. Well I wouldn't become a member now if you went down on your lousy, stinking, purulent knees and BEGGED ME!!!
(This is just a joke. I'm very grateful for any time any of you put into reading my shit and I hope you've got some enjoyment out of it. Thank you. I say again, I'm not being at all serious with the above)
So, I got some questions from you lot. Here are my answers.
Q: A (wild) bogus gasman appears - what do you say to him?
A: "Begone, sir. There will be no bogusing of my gas today! I would lock you out, but I don't actually have any locks. I am a warrior and I demand to be treated like one. So, you have forced me to this. Bidoof, I choose you!" Bidoof: "Durka dur"
Q: whats with the hating. so much hate.
A: What's with the trying to sound cool, Coolio? I knew someone once who thought speaking in short bursts and abusing the shit out of full stops was the coolest thing anyone has ever, ever done, ever. But it wasn't. Anyway, you want to know why I despair? That fucking Flappy Bird game is popular just because it's popular. What is wrong with you people?!
Q: Who should be thrown on an inferno (preferably made by the white man)?
A: Pharrell Williams, because of that thing he's going about with on his head at the moment. Also, he's black, so it works. If he's busy, stick Melissa McCarthy on there. She gives me the fucking creeps.
Q: yea everyone called me Dixie Cup for years juts cause I asked if it was alright to use a dixie cup as a condom in sex ed. im cool now though
A: Can I call you back?
Q: Whats so great about zias? :)
A: None of their shops fall within my restraining order zone. Sorry but I'm not going to answer this one properly, I think I give them enough free advertising. It's all deserved though, I'll say that much.
Thanks for those. Now, onto something with a bit of substance for a change. Here are.....
TEN ALBUMS THAT IF YOU HAVEN'T HEARD YOU'RE NOT VERY GOOD
Or just (not top) ten albums you must hear before you die, according to my gospel opinion.
1. The Zombies - Odessey And Oracle
2. Jeff Wayne's Musical Version Of The War Of The Worlds
3. Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid
4. Neil Young - After The Gold Rush
5. My Bloody Valentine - Loveless
6. Neon Neon - Stainless Style
7. Slint - Spiderland
8. Sly And The Family Stone - There's A Riot Goin' On
9. T. Rex - The Slider
10. Massive Attack - Mezzanine
And I'm spent. Onwards!
Penultimate wake in me bed. There's a heavy feeling hanging in the air, which in hindsight may have been because Philip Seymour Hoffman had just been found dead. A bloody shame - he wasn't so much an actor than a bleedin' chameleon and the industry won't quite be the same, knowing he'll never star in a stellar role again. No more turning shitstorm movies into Shakespearean masterpieces (see 25th Hour) for ol' Phil. As I say, a real shame.
On a more selfish note, Ralph had made it known to the Shebas that he wanted to see me, maybe to discuss offing Fredo, or the chocolate bar and how good it is and should definitely go back to being 10p. Ruddy inflation, eh? Anyway, we picked up Mama Sheba and arrived at Ralph's. Debbie and Ed had been there a while and were just leaving. Ralph offered me some 'leño' which sounded just too exotic to decline. Turned out to be bog standard reg. I barely touched it - I was preoccupied with using the sun and my watch to create a spot for the dog to chase. We grabbed some ice and headed.
The ice was dropped off at Sheba's, following which we made like trees and got out of there to get some plane-friendly hookah. Back home, we got ready by putting on makeup and gathering bottles of Stella. It's like a really hard game of Guess Who, good luck. Today was the day of the Superbowl, something I had absolutely no experience or knowledge of.
After picking up Sheba and Tree, we made like Tree and got high. We didn't, I just wanted to say that. X's house was the venue for this American event and along with Mrs Nancy and a quick cameo from Alecia's mum Linda, we were the only guests. Our fun was made trying to catch ourselves swearing in front of Noa or Tatumn and judging the adverts. Well, now when people ask me who Bob Dylan is, I can tell them "He's the guy from that Chrysler advert" Good job, Bob.
The game itself confused the shit out of me for the first two quarters, but as the beer and pizza found a friend in me, I overcompensated so much that I actually paid enough attention to know what was going on. The Seattle Shadowhawks were slaying the Denver Broncos. What? Oh, sorry, Seahawks. Half time show. Don't you just want to grab Bruno Mars by his skinny little throat and roar "You are not Michael Jackson!!" into his tone deaf ears? No?
The game continued, finally. The Seahawks were bending the Broncos over and telling them to like what would come next. Everyone said this Superbowl was shit and they promised the next one would be better. Mhmm. I didn't care any road, I understood the game and dare I say, was enjoying it. You know how people grow up hating Gorgonzola cheese, then when they hit a certain age they want to eat nothing but Gorgonzola cheese? Maybe that's me with American football?
I was hugged bye by everyone, which felt a little surreal when you consider that not much more than a year ago, not one person in Phoenix, Arizona knew the name Sergeant Dread. We left X and Alecia's for my last time, this year at least, and everyone was happy to make one final trip to Zias. I had to hide the fact I was treating my comrades to DVDs, so it was an awkward visit. We left with Robin Williams Live On Broadway, The Artist and Life Of Brian and headed to #3.
It's not the hardest thing, guessing what we got up to. I said bye to as many family members as I could of the Shebas, including BK and Rico, the dogs. We agreed that if Sheba and Tree could get up at 4, they'd come along to the airport. Regardless, I said "In a bit" just in case.
Back home, we had some more bomb (hey! I don't touch the stuff at home, this here was the only libation I get!) and settled down to cartoons, as uge. Oh, interestingly enough, on the drive home, whoever the DJ was made a point of emphasising the words "All bad things must come to an end" which we found pretty neat. At midnight, sleepy time, to wake at 4.
A knock on my door. Oh. Fuck. It's 5. Within ten minutes, me, Nancy and her mum were in the car. Hope Sheba and Tree weren't too miffed. "I'm not seeing the connection to your homeland on this ticket". Double fuck. I produced the confirmation and after the lady's tinkered with the computer for about twenty minutes, it's all straightened out. Nearly had a total heart attack, so I did. We said our byes, which is never easy, then I made it on the plane with minutes to spare. Kept drifting in and out of consciousness on the plane, then arrived at Newark. Piece of piss.
And here I am, sat in an empty departure lounge, sucking the charging station dry, puffing on hookah, praying this arctic blast doesn't strand me here. The worst thing for me when flying is wondering if you'll ever see your case again. You always do (so far!) but still, it's fucking nervewracking. If you ever read this, it would be a safe assumption that there's been a happy ending. I hope.
So, we come to the end of another little expedition. It's a shame so many American idiosyncracies have stayed just that, I don't hesitate to say it would do so many places some good to embrace pancake houses, treating customers like more than simply that and $1 blue slurpees. One can dream.
I'll miss each and every one of the colourful characters I've come into contact with of late - I didn't meet a single person I disliked when here and I mean that sincerely. They'll all be missed, but like I said before, this isn't the end. Someone commented to me that I must feel weird, being part of this crazy Mexican group. Like I said to them, it makes no difference whether they're Mexican or not, they're beautiful people, the salt of the Earth. We made it! There now follows a massive break in transmission.
|Dudes, I totally miss you.|
"The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive"
In a big bit.