STICK WITH THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

A few weeks ago I got an offer in the mail to switch to AT&T U-Verse internet service; at first I was reluctant because the offer seemed to good to be true, but when I called the nice young man on the phone charmed me into "at least trying it out". Since the price was right, and because I was imagining elaborate sexual fantasies with who I imagined to be a hot guy on the other end of the line, I agreed.

Soon after a box the size of a fucking Buick arrived at my door. Actually, it was more akin to a box that a microwave would come in. Anyways, I got caught up in that thing called "life" and put it aside for awhile. Eventually I was told of numerous horror stories by co-workers, friends and in particular my roommate.

Fuck it. Today I called to cancel the service I never bothered to hook up. That was the easy part; since I was within the 30 day money back guarantee window, it wasn't an issue. I go to pack all the shit back into the spacious box and notice there isn't a return shipping label (they ship it back for free). So I called back and...

ME: "Hi, I am trying to return a router and modem but I don't see a return shipping label".

Customer Service Rep #1: "Hmm, that's odd, it should be in there".

ME: "Well, I looked all around the huge box and didn't see it".

CSR #1: "Hmm, well it should be in there".

ME: "It's NOT."

CSR #1: "Well, just put the order # on the box and that should be fine".

ME: "OK, where do I send it?"

CSR #1: "Please hold".

ME: [Lights cigarette]

CSR #1:: "OK, I'm going to have to transfer you".

ME: "..."

3 minutes on hold...

CSR #2: "HELLO - HOW ARE WE DOING TODAY?"

ME: "Hi, I'm fine, I just need-"

CSR #2: "WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU TODAY?"

ME: "I just need-"

CSR #2: "I JUST NEED TO BRING UP YOUR ACCOUNT HERE".

ME: [lights cigarette] [gives account information]

CSR #2: "GREAT, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU TODAY?"

ME: "I need a shipping label to return a router and a modem".

CSR #2: "A WHAT NOW?"

ME: "A shipping label".

CSR #2: "..."

ME: "...to...return..."

CSR #2: "I'M GONNA HAVE TO PUT YOU ON HOLD PLEASE".

ME: [Considers if life is really worth living]

CSR #2: "THANKS FOR HOLDING, I HAVE TO MAKE A CALL TO OUR TECH DEPARTME-"

ME: "For a shipping label?"

CSR #2: "PLEASE HOLD".

After being thanked for my patience 3 more times, I was told that between the CSR, the Tech Person and a her supervisor, they couldn't figure out the what, who or why, but finally the collective brain trust assured me if I went to a UPS store they would be able to help me out. Seeing no other option besides suicide, I took the microwave sized box on the fucking bus.

Did I mention it's hot and humid as fuck today? Drenched in sweat, I see the pretty blonde I spoke with on the phone to confirm she could help, which she assured me should could. You know how this is going to end, right? After taking all the shit out the box, she can't match up the serial numbers to the stuff they shipped me.

At this point I'm considering just cutting my losses (or wrists) but make another attempt to call AT&T back, where I was transferred not once, twice or thrice, but FOUR TIMES until this one guy in the sales department (?) told me that I actually needed to take the microwave box to the Post Office. It's 4:42PM.

Somehow I kept my cool and calmly went back inside to collect all the shit that Blonde had spread out all over the place. And then there's this...

BLONDE: "So, how are we doing?"

ME: [Hands shaking with anger] "Apparently I have to take this to the Post Office".

BLONDE: "Oh, that's TOO bad".

ME: "Yeah...can I just get a piece of tape to seal this box?"

BLONDE: "Well, you're not going to like what I'm about to say".

ME: "..."

BLONDE: "I have to charge you $2 for tape".

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.

Wordlessly I left 2 crumpled dollar bills on the counter and walked out. I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but it really wouldn't surprise me if AT&T and UPS are in bed fucking each other on 14" black studded double ended vibrating Hello Kitty dildo powered by a diesel generator.

At least Comcast likes to cuddle after they politely rape me.

I AM MY OWN LAWYER

Yesterday I ventured to the Loop of Chicago, with the intention of paying my DUI court fees/fines. Naively, I thought this would be a simple process, but it was anything but. First obstacle: I had my camera with me in my backpack, which FREAKED security out. I assured them I was not going to shoot pictures inside said facility, and I sought out a storage locker to temporarily dispose of my baby.

Then I went through security again and answered questions about my camera...again even though it wasn't on me. Told the nice lady at the desk that all I wanted to do was give the City $1,532 that I owed, and was then told I would have to wait until 1:15PM, and appear before a judge to do so. What?

4th floor, I'm hanging out and people are asking ME if I'm a lawyer, despite the fact that I'm wearing jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. 3 hours and a stupid trial prosecuted by 2 very green recent law students, my name was called. Went before the judge and "filed a motion to advance" my case. Then had to wait another hour just to hand over my check.

Fuck. This. Shit.

PS - So glad it's done and I don't have to face that judge again!
PPS - And this was only half of the story...I'm sparing you annoying details.

IF I EVER HEAR ANOTHER VUVUZELA, I WILL CRY

Wow, so, I made it through World Cup and I have the scars and bruises to prove it. That shit was fucking hard. There were days when I closed the bar at 2AM, got home at 3AM, and had to turn around to be back at 8AM. Some days, 6AM (damn time zones!).

I'm still undecided on how serious Americans are about Soccer (yeah, that's what I call it). Mostly ex-pats were most into it, and they were cool, even if they drink Carlsburg and tip for shit. That game the Germany lost to Spain compelled a group of Germans to ring up $450 in Jager bombs. Predictably they ended up vomitng all over the bathroom. I did not, nor would I clean THAT bullshit up.

After all this I thought I would have gained an appreciation for the "beautiful game". Not so. In fact, if anything it makes me yearn for baseball, and in a strange inverse way, American Football, like NFL. Proper, son. Never been a big fan but I think come this fall I shall be.

Oh, and I'm giving my Adidas/Work Shoes a proper Viking Funeral; they will be doused with lighter fluid and burned to the MOTHERFUCKING ground. Watch for those pictures...soon.

THE BEAT IS SUPPOSED TO DROP RIGHT THERE

Not to harp about my ex-best-friend whom almost died in along with with kids in a fiery car crash today...(I'm done crying). This is sincere and kinda lame...but John was my first true love, and I know it's never gonna happen...but the news of him and his wife and his kids getting into a bad accident on a Phoenix freeway (thank GOD they are OK) freaked me the FUCK OUT.

I know it's selfish, but the sound of his voice made me regret the years we've spent apart. Amongst my good friends, he is alone in that we've known each other since 4th fucking grade. And we related our lives...he owns 4 houses and a had 3 kids and a wife. I don't even have a fucking cat.

PS - But I got KRS-ONE

POSTCARDS FROM A BOMBED-OUT SHIT-HOLE

So today I volunteered to accompany Ex-Roomie to Gary, Indiana. Easily the shittiest 'hood I've ever been in. Had I known what an industrial wasteland that place is (and I had an idea but wasn't prepared for it to be worse off than Detroit or East St. Louis) I would have worn my steel toed/heeled boots and perhaps brought my new bike helmet.

That's an old hotel, located in the historic downtown quarter, converted to apartments and frequented by crack heads. I gave a quarter to some guy asking me why in the hell I'm taking pictures of this old place. I answered that same question 3 times in the space of 2 minutes.

That modest dwelling you see there? None other than Michael Fuckin' Jackson was raised there! Along with his less famous siblings. The place is even smaller in real life. Note all the comments left on the street sign.

This cracked out former hotel isn't even boarded up, nor fenced off. More images would have been taken by me, had it not been for the presence of many, many people burning holes through me/getting eye-fucked. I was also legitimately concerned I would step on a used hypodermic needle.

The Casket Showroom...I assumed it was once a lounge of some sort, but it used to be exactly what it's name is (next to a Church). By this point many of the street people noted ourpresence, and I had to piss like whoa...but didn't have the nerve to do so in an alley.

Urban blight like none other I've ever seen or experienced. This is a shot looking north towards the old steel mill(s). Vacant lots abound in amazing quantity, especially right near the formerly thriving city center.

Indiana limestone son! There were at least 7 or 8 crumbling churches of various denominations. This one was notable for being totally and completely hollowed out, a gorgeous architectural work of art left to decay before it's time. Such a shame. Note the trees growing from inside.

PS - Today is the first time since early June of last year that I properly left the city limits. NYC/Fire Island then...Gary, IN now. Quite the contrast, to say the least.

JUSTIN SOLVES THE HEALTH CARE ISSUE

It's really quite simple people...

As one of 44+ million Americans without health insurance (and not the only one who is a fucking moron - but perhaps one of the most idiotic) the above image illustrates how I solved my recent medical "issue".

At the tail end of Labor Day weekend...I feel down a half flight of stairs. It sounds worse than it it. My buddy, who lives in the building next to me, rocks a sweet attic-like apartment. The only problem with his place, are the narrow/shallow/tall steps that one must negotiate 3 flights worth.

Was I high? Yeah. Drunk? You bet! The irony is that I was audibly giving him instructions on how best not to eat shit, when he said something funny and...I looked back at him and...FUCK! Needless to say, the law of gravity was soon very apparent to me.

Somehow I managed not to break my eyeglasses, iPhone, nor, miraculously, the fuckin' glass bowl in my hand (I didn't even drop any herb!). Thankfully after shaking myself off I was able to get off and slink back to my place next door.

In the morning I felt fine. At least I did until I got out of bed and tried to walk. OUCH! My right lower leg was in all kinds of pain. Had I had health insurance I would have gone straight to the doctor. Or, I would have if I had a car to get there. Or if I had someone to take me there. Or. Whatever. You get the point.

My goal for that morning was to rent a Zipcar to go grocery shopping. Sadly for me, the closest one was 12-ish blocks away. I tried my best to hobble towards it, but since I don't look nearly as cool as Clint Eastwood does when he squints/winces, I gave up half way there and went to Walgreen's to buy an ACE bandage, a pack of Camel Wide Lights and a bag of Cheetos.

2 days later, a few bags of ice, many re-runs of Mad Men and a bottle of vodka later, I feel like $10! Oh, and my pimp limp is nearly gone. So you see, you really don't need medical attention for stupid injuries such as these, and perhaps many others. You don't even need ibuprofen (see above)! Just watch that third step on my buddy's fucked up staircase - it's a doozy.

PS - !NICK! - Your t-shirt is coming along nicely.

PRIDE (FOR JACK)

Per Jack's request, I will now willingly commit the sin of pride...automotive pride that is. I am full of random ability, but I am particularly PROUD of my driving abilities. Recently I had to re-up on my car insurance and I was pleasantly reminded that I have ZERO points on my license [knock on wood] which is something of an achievement for someone who once piloted a purple Lincoln Continental while high on LSD.

I'm thinking part of the reason for my driving prowess was the result of the first pair of autos I had access to. Below is a 1996 Pontiac Trans Am. This was my mother's car and it had a 275-HP V-8 and T-Tops. She gave me driving lessons in a pet cemetery. Seriously. Giving a car like this to a 16 year old guy is akin to handing out a .357 Magnum lacking a lock. Oh how I pine for the days when I used to SMOKE assholes in Ford Mustangs. Fuck 'em.

My other teenage whip was my father's 1997 Mercedes-Benz 300E. This, my friends, is a fucking CAR! It wasn't that fast, nor luxurious, but I'll be damned if it wasn't bullet proof. Few people outside of the American Midwest can fathom how dicey driving in the winter can be, and yet this car just oozed confidence. I really liked the head lamp washers too (which I just noticed this image lacks)!

My greatest driving feat was safely transporting my person from Chicago to LA. That's 2,000 miles kids, and at a certain point I got sick of being in the car with MYSELF. Thank God I was alone, otherwise I would have left even my best friend for dead somewhere near the continental divide. 

When people ask me what I want to do when I "grow up" I respond without hesitation and shout "RACE CAR DRIVER". I'm not kidding. If I had few grand to blow I wouldn't donate it to charity (feel free to interject here Gloria :)) I would piss it away at Skip Barber Racing School. Really, this possibility is what gets me out of bed in the morning (fuck it - I'm already going to hell). All I need is an understanding benefactor to make this happen. 

This great dream of mine might be drawing close sooner than I think. My lithe metallic boyfriend (my Acura RSX Type-S) is set to be returned in less than 5 months and it scares the shit out of me. After I get over the initial shock I think I'll acquire a Volvo 850 R. I've always been horny for that bitch (just not in yellow - paint it black YO). 

UM, yeah, so, I don't know if I fulfilled Jack's requirements. This basically just turned into my jerking off about cars... 

MY STATE OF THE UNION ADDRESS

A few weeks ago I was watching "Sicko", the Michael Moore documentary about the abysmal health care system in the United States. Although I had issues with the film, notably Michael Moore's various stunts like taking 9/11 workers to Cuba for health care (although that was kinda bad-ass) there was a moment that really struck me. Michael was over in France interviewing a cancer patient about his treatments, and how this individual was able to receive the necessary medication he needed at little to no cost.

I'm quoting from memory here, but I remember another French person saying something along the lines of "well, of course the medicine is subsidized by the government...why wouldn't we take care of our fellow countrymen?" That attitude was so refreshing since that concern for a fellow citizen's well being is almost taken for granted. Anyone living in the United States knows that is definitely not the case here. Shocking, I know, but it still bothers me.

When that fucking cunt Sara Palin desperately attempted to label Obama as a "socialist", it really pissed me off. A socialist he is not, but is there really anything wrong with providing people with lesser means certain things like, oh, I don't know, health care, food or a place to live? It bothers me to no end this attitude that "what's mine is mine and NOT FUCKING YOURS". The battle of the "haves" and "have nots" is nothing new...and although I am not an academic or a economists, it seems to be a basic tenant of Capitalism (or at least the American version of it).

Case in point. This week the heads of the Big 3 automakers testified before congress about their need for a financial bailout (actually, LOANS, to be back with interest) and were universally rebuffed by the lawmakers. Seeing as these lawmakers were quick to dole out $700 billion to bailout (i.e. not loans) for the financial sector, taking a small part of that package, in this case $25 billion, to aid a crucial sector of our economy would seem like a no-brainer.

Sadly, it seems that the lawmakers, and according to the horrific reader comments I pore over in the Chicago Tribune everyday, it seems that it's perfectly fine to protect white collar jobs, while blue collar workers, and the greater American middle class, can taking a flying fuck. Yes, the Big 3 automakers have made plenty of stupid fucking decisions, but the simple fact that allowing any of them to fail would translate into the loss of potentially millions of jobs to vanish, should provoke more concern than the dismissive comments from our nation's lawmakers.

Obviously, my point of view is tainted by the fact that I'm going on my third month of being unemployed, but the more I think about it, it seems that this country is heading full steam into a situation where those of means are going to cover their ass, while everyone else "beneath" them are on their own to figure their shit out. In this day and age, if you are not financially secure, you are seen as a drag on those that are. And despite how you got into a fucked position, the reasons are irrelevant.

It's going to be a long, cold, bitch of a winter.

/End of Rant

PS - Just to lighten the mood, here's a picture of my third imaginary BF, DeMarco Majors!

YES YOU CAN!

Ever since I checked off Obama's name on that ballot on Tuesday, my nipples have been rock hard. Fuck glass. I could cut high tensile steel with these boys, which is another of saying that I am SO FUCKING EXCITED THAT HE DID IT! Whew.

Not that it was huge surprise, but it was a huge relief. Now I can move on with my life. Speaking of which, I have a few "favors" to ask of President-Elect Obama (oops! there go those nipples again). Here goes:

Dear President-Elect Obama,

First off, CONGRATULATIONS! I am so happy that you won that I've lost control of my nipples! WOOT!

Now...let's get down to brass nipp...er, tacks.

The nation is in turmoil. Everyone is broke. And Frank Caliendo still has a TV show. We need CHANGE and we need it fast. That being said, I realize that real change takes time for it become effective. So while I'm waiting for the Iraq War to end and for our economy to get out of the shitter, here are a few small things you could do for me to make the time go by a bit faster.

First off, seeing as I'm broke, single and unemployed, I watch a lot of TV. A LOT. Gawd, I would have thought that I would have gotten bored with watching "No Reservations" and "Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares" by now, but no. Still watching!

You know what would improve the quality of my television watching? Well, a Samsung 102" Plasma TV would do the trick. Sure, I know that $45,000 is a lot for a TV, but I figure you have some leftover campaign money that's gathering dust. Not sure if that's legal? Here's a newsflash, you're the new head cheese. You can do it. YES YOU CAN!

Another thing that single, unemployed people tend to do is watch porn. Lot's of it. I think might have seen every single video on XTube. Twice. What this country needs in it's time of need is quality gay porn. Make that hard core quality gay porn.

Let me pitch you my idea: Brady Quinn and Grady Sizemore. Fucking. For 60 minutes. That's it. If you want to get all artistic and shit maybe you can add some background music. I suggest Lovage's "Stroker Ace". You can do it. YES YOU CAN!

OK, so this is an either/or kind of a request. As I mentioned earlier, I am in need of work. I see here in the news that Governor Blagojevich is allowed to appoint your replacement in the Senate. Well, I got shit else to do! Seriously man, put in a good word for me with Blaggo. Seeing as he has the IQ of a dildo, he's gonna need suggestions. You're a compelling speaker. I need a job. You can do it. YES YOU CAN!

Short of that, think you could hook me up with a pool table?

Thanks,

Justin (the one in Chicago)

EEEEK! I FOUND A NEST!

So, this afternoon, feeling hungry, I decided to brave the rain and walk down to a little hot dog stand on the corner a few blocks away. Since said hot dog stand has room for about 8 or so people to stand in while they order/wait for their food, I had to wait out in the rain. No big deal. And then...

...two HOT Mormon missionaries show up. I shit you not! One was about 5'8, blonde, kinda cute in that boring "boy next store" kind of way. But his buddy, well, he looked like Steve Sandvoss:

Obviously, he wasn't nearly this hot. But he was 6'3, athletic looking and (wait for it) dripping wet. He even had the rosy cheeks. Whew! I almost converted right then and there!

But it gets better! 2 more showed up, then 2 more, and then, and I really SHIT YOU NOT 2 more show up! Suddenly, it's me, my buddy C.W., 2 Latinas, some Cable TV dude and 7 Mormon Missionaries [note: due to space constraints the 8th one had to wait on the sidewalk in the rain]. He was shortish, dark hair/features and UGH so fucking hot.

Somehow I managed not to hyperventilate, which was accomplished by staring at my shoes and thinking of Barbara Bush on a slip n' slide. Thankfully my greasy food was ready and I got the hell out of there. After leaving my buddy C.W. turns to me and says "what the fuck was with all the Mormons?"

"I don't know...I don't know" said I while reaching for a cigarette.

THE END

THERE'S FIREWORKS...AND THEN THERE'S FIREWORKS

This past weekend was another epic weekend of fun, sun and um..."naughtiness". Friday was spent at a BBQ with a few old friends and many new ones. We ate pork, drank Red Stripe and got bombed on some amazing herb (gawd, I love smoking joints while walking down alleys in the Chicago, it's a special kind of awesome surpassed only by smoking joints with gutter punks in Vancouver).

The ride home consisted of walking at least 2 miles to Western Ave and then waiting, and waiting...then waiting some more for a 49 CTA bus. While on said bus I was bored and looked through the contacts on my phone. One in particular, "Jason" didn't ring a bell at first, but then I remembered he was a twinky Asian guy I met in a bar one night months ago.

Turns out he lives near me, and since he had nothing going on he came over with the intention of watching the amateur fireworks display that takes place in the park near me every year. Well, I was kinda drunk, but I swear I didn't make the first move. But before I knew it my pants were on the floor...as were his.

When we were making out in my bed I kept having to remind him NOT to touch my fresh ink, which reminded me of the Puerto Rican guy from last summer (i.e. the "don't touch my corn rows" guy). I had no intention of taking things to the proverbial "next level" but when someone squeezes my dick and begs me to fuck them...well, it's ON.

After rolling over and grabbing a Mag we went to town. Never before have I had sex with anyone that so loud. He was all "OOOOHHHHHBAAAABBBYYYGIIVVEEITTTOOOMEEEEYESYEEEESSS". At one point I wondered if he was faking it. My next thought was "fuck my neighbors can totally hear us fucking".

And get this, towards the end of our rendezvous, the fireworks from the park down the street started going off like crazy. Honestly, I had to stifle my laughter at the ridiculous situation, but I still stayed focused on the task at hand, and goddamn if we didn't make some REAL fireworks of our own. And that's the t-r-u-t-h!

When we were done he took a shower and I drank a can of Old Style and smoked a cig while listening to the Allman Brother's "Melissa". I've never felt so patriotic...