Bush Circlejerk
I don't know what happened to the previous post but quite simply I'm embarrassed. Posting to livejournal about any sort of sexual activity involving george bush is simply grounds for instant blacklisting from most progressive circles I'm sure, regardless of what drugs were involved.
Hell, I think it qualifies me for being officially Stupid.
I don't know what I was thinking. Anyhow.
Somehow I managed to sneak into the Texas mansion...I'm sure there was some intoxication involved, so mabye I was staying over at highrise's or something. Anyway, Shrub was there alright, so I proceeded to commence a frightfully coherent debate with him on the topic of genetically engineered chickens.
Then one thing led to another and hence yesterday's post. I feel so... marginalized and shamed.
Perhaps this is what led me to leave my life in regina, my girlfriend of a year and a half, and go and work at the food kitchen. It was one of schnits's friends projects: I packed up some clothes, some food, my guitar and some cds and hit the road. After awhile of bussing, I got there; It was the bottom floor of a run down apartment building. We offered soup and other food to anyone who stopped by.
When I first got there I asked if I could work there, and namebombed schnits, at which point they were like 'OH Man, no kidding, sure come work with us." And they immediately stuck me out on the bar-like floor, and I fit snuggly in serving food and talking to the destitute and homeless.
When I got there it was just me and another guy or two, but by around 2am, the place was bustling with both unemployed, scraggly dudes that made me look clean shaven, and fellow workers. I decided to give what little rations I had to the poor who came to me. I wasn't quite as busy as I had been at Western Pizza, but I was pretty close.
That and I went something like 3 weeks without food.
At the end of the three weeks, I broke down and asked for food. I was one of their hardest workers (and everyone else had a job they could feed themselves with outside of this gig), so they happily abliged me a slice of bread and some soup every day. Needless to say this was what we were giving out to everyone else, but not enough to sustain a person.
That's where Marla came in. I don't know her real name, but that's basically how I think of her. She was, well, crazy as a loon. Or me. maxcrazy(loon, me). Anywho, she was a supposedly recovered heroin junkie who worked part time for us as some sort of community service plea.
I was easy pickins, working for a month without any sort of lovin', sign of hope, or food. There was some wet sloppiness on a grave in a nearby graveyard, but later that night something in the form of her getting canned from the soup kitchen for something or other caught up to her.
I am oblivion in a syringe at this point.
Hell, I think it qualifies me for being officially Stupid.
I don't know what I was thinking. Anyhow.
Somehow I managed to sneak into the Texas mansion...I'm sure there was some intoxication involved, so mabye I was staying over at highrise's or something. Anyway, Shrub was there alright, so I proceeded to commence a frightfully coherent debate with him on the topic of genetically engineered chickens.
Then one thing led to another and hence yesterday's post. I feel so... marginalized and shamed.
Perhaps this is what led me to leave my life in regina, my girlfriend of a year and a half, and go and work at the food kitchen. It was one of schnits's friends projects: I packed up some clothes, some food, my guitar and some cds and hit the road. After awhile of bussing, I got there; It was the bottom floor of a run down apartment building. We offered soup and other food to anyone who stopped by.
When I first got there I asked if I could work there, and namebombed schnits, at which point they were like 'OH Man, no kidding, sure come work with us." And they immediately stuck me out on the bar-like floor, and I fit snuggly in serving food and talking to the destitute and homeless.
When I got there it was just me and another guy or two, but by around 2am, the place was bustling with both unemployed, scraggly dudes that made me look clean shaven, and fellow workers. I decided to give what little rations I had to the poor who came to me. I wasn't quite as busy as I had been at Western Pizza, but I was pretty close.
That and I went something like 3 weeks without food.
At the end of the three weeks, I broke down and asked for food. I was one of their hardest workers (and everyone else had a job they could feed themselves with outside of this gig), so they happily abliged me a slice of bread and some soup every day. Needless to say this was what we were giving out to everyone else, but not enough to sustain a person.
That's where Marla came in. I don't know her real name, but that's basically how I think of her. She was, well, crazy as a loon. Or me. maxcrazy(loon, me). Anywho, she was a supposedly recovered heroin junkie who worked part time for us as some sort of community service plea.
I was easy pickins, working for a month without any sort of lovin', sign of hope, or food. There was some wet sloppiness on a grave in a nearby graveyard, but later that night something in the form of her getting canned from the soup kitchen for something or other caught up to her.
I am oblivion in a syringe at this point.