i bought my lance armstrong bracelet at 7-11

so i bellied up to hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. it wasn't a totlally wet fart. obviously the worlds created by douglas adams rock...but the love story was deader than lincoln and the arthur dent guy was totally inactive. just sort of very brittish-ly being dragged along by the episodic plot. but it was still worth trip. mainly because i cheaped it up by swinging by the 99 cent store to buy goodies. you can buy a lot of high-powered carbs and triple-distilled sugar snacks for 99 cents. and the SHASTA was on ice. it went flat in two seconds flat.

talk about alien worlds. the 99 cent store is about as psycho-delic as it gets. while i was waiting in line there was this hispanic woman. just noodling on some generic cheese puffs. they were like electric orange. and these supernova crumbs were clinging to her lips. and her fingers had this cheese dandruff all over them. she couldn't wait to get home, or at least, into her car before mauling these cheese things. she was just munching. who was this woman? what did she do for a living? she had a ring on her finger so some sloppy joe was shackled to her. was she the "prize" in the relationship? she was wearing a mint jacket with dentine white pants, and nurse shoes. had these same cheese-doodle fingers been changing bedpans? did she wash her hands? oh my gawd, who are her children? are they trying to be cool at american high with strange cultural doppleganger greasing down at the 99 cent store? i bet they never let their friends sleep over.

sometimes there's some pretty chicks up in the 99 cent store. i don't know why, but being in a cheap store makes me think i have an advantage on picking up women. like, if they're in here they must be hungry. desperate. maybe i'll just whip out a twenty and buy the store and impress the hell out of them.

(burp) i'm eating cheese doodles right now. and chasing it with RC COLA. yep. and the cheese powder is shorting out my keyboard.

oh, and by the way. let me just tell you what happened:

ok, i've set up this rigid writing schedule. 7-10 am. that's it. and i've set up a "no fly" zone for my girl. i've downed all her planes. (if she reads this, she'll say that's fucked up. that ain't true. i give him all the space he needs. you know what motherfucker? i'm the best woman you ever had. and then she shakes her head and says, "see, he just don't know me") and the real answer is, yes i do, yes i know thee well girlfriend and you are not cleared for take off during 7-10 am.

it was 6:45 am. i had 15 before i started slogging it out. so i decided, like a mature bachelor, to clean out my refrigerator. (by the way, when and how the hell did i amass this army of sauces?)

3 weeks ago i was sick. my girl made me matzo ball soup from scratch. there was some left over. so she put it in a tupperware container for yours truly to, "take it for lunch at work," and like a totally jerkwad boyfriend i forgot about it.

2 weeks ago she asked me if i had taken it for lunch. i lied: "yeah, it's almost better after a couple of days."

well, at 6:45 am, i saw this like bowl of crap in the back of my fridge, hanging out with the french's mustard. it looked like bombay sewage. i realized i couldn't pour it down the sink, so i decided to dump it in the toilet. and right when i flushed the toilet, i realized immediately that YOU CAN'T FLUSH MATZO BALLS down the toilet. i watched that hardened, carb-encrusted asteroid disappear into the porcelain cave. and then i watched the water rise. i saw carrots floating by. noodles were doing circles. and i was struck with that plugged-up-toilet paralysis...as the water spilled over the dam. jesus h christ. i scrambled for the magazines. i threw the bath mats into the tub. and the water kept coming. i was in my socks and wearing my good pants. so i danced around, yanked them off. ripped my pants off so soup-toilet water wouldn't soak into the cuffs. and then i cocked the plunger and went to work. shit. can draino eat through a mattzo ball? how will my neighbors feel when i knock on their door to drop a deuce for the next two weeks while draino tries to eat away hardened wheat flour. how do i explain to my manager why a matzo ball broke the central plumbing? i was working hard on an elaborate lie about a giant kidney stone when my girl walked in. she saw her beautiful man. her adonis. standing in six-inch soup-toilet water in his underwear stabbing the toilet.

mg: (no words)

me: baby.

mg: is your ass that bad?

me: what? my ass? i didn't do this. this is that soup you cooked.

mg: i knew it. you lied to me. you didn't take it to work.

me: what? yes i did.

then my girl shooke her head and walked out the door. just about the time that the matzo ball went through. the water went down. and i mopped up the floor with 6 white towels.

i am the jack johnson of american lameness.

i'm listening to triumph as i write this. anybody doesn't know who they are should check them out. they're old white rock of the iron butterfly ilk. but they rock on a monday night at 9:18pm. and no, i don't spellcheck.