Here's another sample story I'm working on... again, feel free to comment...
Watching Carl Drink at Seipmurg
(Identity changed so I don’t get sued for slander while being unemployed)
This is edited together from numerous journal entries while sitting at a table at said location with Crazy Carl. He’s drinking, I’m just chain smoking and drinking Coke. While Carl gets his fill of being social, I hide in my notebook. Peering up and looking around me only for new stories to tell. As grim a hangout as Siepmurg, it’s got some pretty gross atmosphere to make note of. If you’re into that kind of thing.
Seipmurg with Crazy Carl. His cell phone was locked in his van while it was in the shop. That’s why he didn’t return my calls. That would only happen to Carl. The only two attractive chicks in the bar are playing darts next to our table. I’m ignoring them while I write. They are hot, but they are here. That says enough about them. I am here only because Carl and I had no where else to go. Just as I no longer have my Denver apartment, Carl no longer has his house. So we car pooled to a bar that I hate. I just came back from calling Tracy. I’d hoped I could talk her into coming down to help me cope with my surroundings. She wanted to go to bed. Can’t say I blame her. A more recent survey indicates that more hot chicks have entered this bar. But still nothing decent. Ahhhh... Coon Rapids, will you ever change? This town is really depressing. I can’t imagine how I’d feel about living here without my seven year exile in Denver. There is an old pervert looking guy staring at the hot dart playing chicks asses. He’s not even trying to hide it. His staring at their asses is different from mine because he’s old. And I’m hiding it in a notebook in between gawks.
A phone call from Karen informs me that my return to gas station boy life will take a bit longer than planned. Not-Phillips (as I will call the new ownership) is causing problems with my hiring. That sucks ass. I need to get working. Carl needs to stop shaking the fucking table to the beat of the crappy music. We’re at Siepmurg. More shitty people here than usual tonight. Well, at least on the nights I’ve been here. The song has changed. Now it’s Frank Black’s Los Angeles. At least that’s pretty cool. Earlier today I was messsing around with I-Tunes. I finally got that program to work on FrankenMac. I was ripping a bunch of my homemade CD’s to MP3 format when I left today. So far I’ve converted all of Wasted Audio, all the Beavis and Butthead, All my Touch Me Zoo and re-did the 4 audio CDs of stuff I downloaded from Napster at carl’s house a few years back. He was at Be-Bops and I sat in his basement sans toilet paper, downloading on his broadband connection for hours. Christ, talk about cliging to the past... A guy just walked by in an Anoka Tornados letter jacket. The year on the sleeve? 1966. Yeah, those must have been the best years of your life then...
Carl has just returned from playing touch screen. He’s also brought news that makes me want to leave even more. Matt Risnes is here. Oh hooray! The table next to us needs to be taken out back and shot. A six man hootin’ and hollerin’ beer toast. YEE HAW FROSTY MUG!!! I’d have to say all that was missing was a “chug... chug... chug... chug...” chant as they drank, but they did that earlier. These people are really disgusting. “Woooooo you drank your beer! And I drank my beer!! So did he!! Dont we all rule!!!” I hope they leave before they all gang up and kick my ass. Wait, Carl just informed me that he wont let them. Well, I sure feel safer now.
I was just flipping back through the last few pages of my notebook. I haven’t even written a full page since we last were here. And that was three weeks ago. Jen was yelling at me the other night about how I wasted my time while I was unemployment. Well, I did. I knew I would. While not the smartest thing I could have done, I needed to get away from working for a while. Needed to take some time to just live life. The last decade plus had been all about resposibility, and I know had the (limited) financial freedom to just take a break. Yes, it was definitely fun, but all good things must come to an end. This had to as well. Carl and I have been talking about where we are and where we’ve been. I feel like I’m going nowhere, and he’s thinking that things are looking up. Dwayne called me Friday night. Remember Kevin? The asshole manager of the Pizza Hut I walked out on in May 2000? He just walked out of Pizza Hut with a weekend’s deposit. Over $8000 I guess. Good job you pile of fuck. Like eight grand is going to get you anywhere. So Kevin is a guy that things are definitely not looking up for. Carl is outside, talking to the owner of Seipmurg while he changes the message board. The emergency exit is being propped open with an empty pack of my cigarettes. A cold wind is blowing through the crack directly onto my legs and hand as I’m trying to write this. Even Carl’s tall beer shelter provides no warmth. I miss Denver. Dubbs even. Seipmurg is supposedly giving away free tacos in a bit, which would be pretty cool if it happened. A free bar meal when I’m broke, that works for me. I’m starting to get fucking hungry.
[Seipmurg taco break]
OK, they weren’t that bad. The “meat and bean” sauce was really damn runny, but it all tasted decent enough. It was however, no Zantigos. Some chicks have now taken the table behind me. There is four of them and they are irritating and stupid. But of course they are hot. They have to be. That is the Seipmurg law or something. There is something about the whole experience of being here that has a weird deja vu for me. I can’t figure out why that is. Carl says we’re going to take off after he has another tall beer. Seipmurg just charged Carl $5 for a pack of Marlboro Lights. That is retarded to pay that much. But in his defense, “It’s my fault for not stopped at a gas station.” True, and I have to thank you for not mooching off me. No one wants my “old man” smokes anyways. A waitress just dropped a plate full of food on the floor, right by our table. I’m waiting for the table next to us to start clapping and cheering. Didn’t happen shockingly enough. Now the jukebox is playing the shittiest Kid Rock song I know. Go ahead, be a cowboy baby. See if I care. I hate this song.
Seipmurg sucks ass. A couple of idiot jocks have shown up to hang on the hot dart chicks. This party needs a Dwayne. Or an Erin Brown. However this party does have an imitation Dave DeHerrera. Something has been lost in translation though. My god could these people be any more disgusting? Watching them interact is sickening. Prototypical jock guy (model #28402-A) is trying to be funny to impress stupid bar chick (model #45820-F). Apparently loud swearing is high hilarity in these circles. On cue, Carl is trying to fit in with these people by playing the “just one of the boys” cards. Oh no... Stop it... Don’t reduce yourself to this Carl... Good, he went to pee. The place just improved, Matt Risnes left. And Fucker Head Mike (the Original) showed up. Kind of an even up swap I guess. He’s pretty drunk, and didn’t want his Dead Nazi shot. I drank it. Jagermeister and something else. Wasn’t bad... I’ve got to away from here.
We are here tonight for a karaoke show. That is supposed to start at nine. It’s 8:30 now. Also happening right now at another table by me, two jackasses are macking on a single chick. They are really annoying and pathetic with thier attampts at wooing her. But even more pathetic is she’s enjoying the attention. My god are women stupid. At least the ones that come in here are. But they’re hot. Hot and brainless. I hope you get raped. Wow, this place can even make White Zombie suck. The TV’s tonight are playing at Tomberwolves game. And 24 with Kiefer Sutherland. Neither of which are very interesting. Oh goodie, karaoke is about to start. The karaoke host dude is singing Voodoo. I dont remember or care whose song that is, so I can’t tell you. The macking fools are whispering into each other ears in front of the hot chick. I’m sure it’s something along the lines of who is doing better at cetting this chick. Hmmmm... another guy has joined in to mack. Does he know he’s in thier territory? The original two idiots look confused and dejected. First up for Karaoke is Densie, who is going to torture us with Ace of Base’s The Sign. Ace of bass sucks. I mean, these guys suck, but Ace of Bass? ooooohhhh they suck! The idiot twins aren’t trying as hard anymore. Hopefully the hot chick got rid of them. Oh shit, Denise is right back up to irritate me with Alanis Morrisette’s Ironic. I’d really hoped to never hear that song again. 1996 was so long ago, but not nearly long enough. Cool! One of the Timberwolves is dead on the TV. Jesus fucking christ. The hot chick is leaving with idiot twin #2. God damn are women fucking retarded.
So far karaoke has been Denise times two, and the host guy singing bad nu-metal. Uh-oh... times three. His song kept fucking up, so Denise is back. What lack of taste selection does she have for us next? Oh, it’s another mid-nineties overplayed chick song that is terrible and I’ve heard to many time, but never cared enough to learn who sings it. This one is the song that says: “I missed you...” about 800 million times in three minutes. To make karaoke even worse, one of the speakers is broken. After a Denise break for the host dude to sing Pearl Jam’s Black (an extra slowed down version to prolong the suck), she’s back to annoy me. Before giving her the mic, the host dude tryed “Can I get a ‘KG for MVP!’ on three?” The only people in the bar to oblige were the beer toaster table infront of him. Denise does a really sappy chick/country song that I don’t care to know. Wow does it suck. Finally someone new comes up. This would be Julie who is going to sing something equally as awful. Instead of saying “I missed you” a whole lot, this one says “landslide” I’m pretty sure this is a re-make of Smashing Pumpkins or something. You know, I’m trying really hard to block the 1990’s from my memory. Will you people stop feeling nostalgic about such an empty decade? Or at least pick an interesting song for christ sake.
Maybe I need to start writing larger. I’m really getting sick of people commenting on how small my handwriting is whenever someone sees it. I write small. Get over it. If I couldn’t read it, I would write larger. See how that works. Asking me if I can read my own writing is fucking dumb. Like I’m going to fill a notebook of tiny words I cant read. Maybe I should just charge people admission to watch me write. It sure seems to get an audience no matter where I am. That blonde chick over there is way too skinny. Someone get her a sammich. Oh no, Carl is going up to sing. Sir Mix-A-Lot’s Baby Got Back. As I put it to him when he asked: “It’s your humility...” I’ll have to hand it to him. He’s got people singing along with him, and he’s better than he was in his basement. (see Wasted Audio 4!)
I can’t imagine staying here much longer. I think I’ll go home and smoke in the driveway. I’m way fucking tired. Carl is wasted off his ass. He’s slurring so badly that I have no idea what he’s even trying to say to me. Kind of funny... Kind of makes me wish I was too. But the last thing I would need is a painful gut filled with Jack Daniels. I guess we’re leaving soon. Carl has become too self conscious to continue drinking. Time for Sobercab Honkass to take him back to the 420 Suites.