DRUNKEN EXCESSES

As usual, I am filled with kindly thoughts about my fellow Americans. Especially the tourists from the rest of the country. Who are, largely, mostly fat, white, and loud. From the Oakland hills all the way to the outskirts of New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, it's a giant rectum, with the sound of banjos. Deliverance country, speckled with urban puss-clusters.

The local media has been whining for months about people leaving San Francisco.
Which is fine. Eventually the place will be ours again.
Go ahead and go.


There were slags howling like maniacs at the karaoke place. Along with their admiring male companions. The bookseller remarked that years ago he had assumed that most women could sing. Sadly, he has been disabused of that; tonight's adventure confirmed all of his worst suspicions about the female of the species.

You know, civilized women don't get drunk and scream their damned fool heads off at karaoke bars, or head into the bathroom to visit god. This is a fact.

While I was finishing my smoke earlier, a female visitor passed me on Grant Avenue, loudly complaining to her companions that at least one person she dealt with today had not spoken English very well, dammit, it's the primary language in this day and age and place what on earth is the world coming to?

Sweetheart, my dang piles bleed for you.

Truly, you poor dear. And bless your heart.


Other than the ambulatory mental health hazards out and about, it was a fine evening, and had been a lovely day. Though it had been disconcerting to find three tables of Caucasians at the restaurant where I went for lunch, but I sat well away from them so as not to be infected by whatever diseases tourists spread nowadays. So I don't know where they were from.
Judging by their clothes and physiques, they were Americans.


McConnell's Red Virginia, Comoy Sunrise Billiard shape 110B, Earl Grey tea. Fog, cold moist breezes, glowing red balls in the distance, blue glowing things above the Financial District. Absolute perfection. Albeit with goobers in the mist.


Don't even think of introducing me to your aunt from West Virginia, and hell will freeze over before I go within one hundred miles of Texas. I am not that type.

I keep wondering how the hell did we win the war?
Maybe the Germans had a bad day.



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