Wisdom Teeth Are Proof Of Intelligent Design. Because God Had Every Reason To Give You Too Many Teeth To Fit In Your Mouth.

Not to mention tonsils and the appendix.

Psalm 139:14 -I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.

Except for the fact that the openings of the esophagus and trachea are too close together. Easy to choke and die that way.

  Matthew 5:48  -You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

And cholesterol that can build up in coronary arteries is then somehow an instrument of perfection, even though a guy working for General Motors who came up with a system like that would have been fired.

Hangnails. The fact that a little piece of snot can make it hard to breathe. Lenses in your eye that wear out and make it harder to focus on things up close. I'm on a roll now.

I see god in the fact that my testicles are hanging out there for anyone to take a whack at. A turtle has a friggin' shell over his whole body for chrissakes. Putting a little protection over the boys was too much?

Ever see a leopard with a twisted ankle? Then why the hell are ours made like that?

Menstrual cycles? Really? And tartar that builds up on the last set of teeth you're ever gonna get.

Not to mention my favorite. Who the fuck designed the prostate gland? WHO. THE FUCK. DESIGNED THE PROSTATE GLAND???? Let's take a thing that gets bigger with age and wrap it around the pee tube. THE PEE TUBE! What a great fucking idea. How do you get rid of a good chunk of your body's metabolic waste? YOU PEE IT OUT! How do you regulate the body's osmotic balance? BY BEING ABLE TO PEE OUT EXCESS WATER! WHICH MEANS IT'S KIND OF IMPORTANT TO BE ABLE TO PEE! YET YOU BIBLE THUMPING IDIOTS CLAIM PUTTING SOMETHING THAT'S GONNA SWELL AND GET BIGGER AROUND THE PEE TUBE IS A GRAND IDEA!

WWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYY????????????????????

It's an interesting little catch-22 really. Belief that god made you prefect is evidence in itself of your imperfection. If this is what your little imaginary friend came up with when he went for perfect, I'm kinda glad it's us people who design airplanes.

A Bit Of Nazi History And An Insight Into My Mind.

Adolf Hitler came to power through a series of free and fair elections.

He worked his and his Nazi party's way through the German parliamentary system, gradually gaining votes and seats until his was the biggest bloc in the Reichstag, or German parliament.

But he wasn't quite where he wanted to be. There were still people who could legally tell Hitler to piss off, and Hitler didn't like that. Then came the Reichstag fire. Right during the runup to the next set of elections someone went and burned down the Reichstag building.

Now imagine the US Congress burned down right before a presidential election. Let's say it would have happened in 2004, right as W was trying for another term. Can you imagine how the feds would have reacted? Actually you don't have to if you just remember what happened after 9/11. I'm looking at you PATRIOT act, warrantless phone tapping, military detention without trial and Guantanamo.

Now imagine it wasn't W in charge during a time of national crisis but Hitler. You don't have to be a genius to see this Reichstag fire thing came at an awful convenient time for a power hungry fiend looking for a reason to consolidate his rule.

And you don't have to be much of a conspiracy theorist to speculate as to who might have set that fire.

Which is why every time I hear this song, I always imagine a scene in a Mel Brooks-like "History of The World" type movie. It would be  a kind of dance number thing, with uniformed Nazi's holding torches moving in perfect choreography as they set torch to the last speck of German democracy. The flames go up and the lights go out for Europe.

I can see it it my head. The whole dance number. Every time I hear this song. Tell me it isn't perfect.

An Unhappy Customer.

Brevity seems to be the soul of wit these days in the mailbag my friends, as this message came in today. Again, complete and unedited:

"If I wanted politics I would go to another and better written blog. Stick to pharmmacy (sic) workplace issues."

Your plight tugs at my heartstrings sir. I can only imagine how terrible your online experiences have been of late. And while I, of course, am more that willing to take my share of responsibility for your discomfort, your real problem may be with whoever is putting a fucking gun to your head and forcing you to read this blog.

I certainly sympathize. It must be some unique version of hell to sit there, cold steel pressed against your temple, as you are forced to read every word I write and never to be able to just skip to the posts that interest you. How it must rip your soul to know that others can simply click on one of the category links on the right, for example, the one that says "An Insider's View Of The Profession" when they want to see only pharmacy related posts while you sit there reading left-wing viewpoints constantly in fear for your life.

Does he quiz you? This man who sits there with cocked handgun making you read my words? Is that how he knows you haven't skipped anything? If so maybe we can work out some sort of arrangement where I can provide you with a cheat sheet. Let me know how I can help. Because while I appreciate the traffic, making someone read my blog at gunpoint is wrong. You can tell that man I said that. If you're not afraid he'll shoot you.

Moving on, you may have a secondary issue with whatever internet service provider is blocking you from accessing the other, better written blogs. I've heard of this thing happening in China, but perhaps the NSA is closer to having its electronic tentacles wrapped around our collective necks than I realized.

Or maybe you could just try Comcast.

I'd probably deal with the gun at your head first though.

Asshole.

 

He Was The Best Of Motivators, He Was The Worst Of Motivators.

Two actual lines from two actual pieces of fan mail received here at Drugmonkey headquarters, honest to god. First up:

I Enjoyed reading your article .... It Is great to hear someone motivating others to take a risk, stay positive

Staying positive, that's what I'm all about baby. On to the next letter:

it's really inspiring to see someone who realizes just how much of a piece of shit everyone in the world is.

Which is kinda like being positive I guess, in a different sort of way.

Such is the dichotomy of the Drugmonkey experience. I am a meat filling of complexity mixed with the guacamole of mystery, wrapped in a riddle tortilla and served up held together with the tinfoil of enigma.

Which is why you keep coming back. Because understandable is boring.

Now I'm hungry all the sudden.

Into The Mailbag We Go.......

Got this one as a comment to this post about the fun times people have working for CVS. Thought it deserved to be out front on its own:

Being a regular pain medication customer of CVS, I find it hilarious that not one single pharmacist will take ownership for their own fuck-ups. After getting rear ended at a stand still by a car traveling 60+ mph last year I was left with 8 bulging discs and an immense amount of pain that I will have to endure the rest of my life. My insurance won't work with Walgreen's so I got stuck with having to deal with CVS. I have a prescription for Tramadol and I don't know how many times I was supposed to have a script ready only to be told by my pharmacist that it can't be filled! You want to talk about a living hell? Try going through a Tramadol withdrawal on top of serious back pain! I am going through it again as we speak. I went back to my prescribing doctor and even pleaded to be put on anything else and he told me that there was nothing else that would help. He adjusted my prescription to where the frequency was 1 to 2 tablets every 4 hours as needed on a 120 count bottle. I have had one refill and one renewal since the adjustment and just had the online app tell me that my script was ready for a refill. I only had a few pills left so this seemed right. I put in the order online and was told it would be ready at 11:00 am. I show up at 1 pm and get told that they can't fill my script because it is too soon! They try to tell me that it was supposed to be a one month supply and I look at the label on my bottle and see "1 dose every 4 hours as needed". I talked to my prescribing doctor and he verified that he did not change the script. So some fuck head pharmacist filled out the script wrong the last time I renewed and I'm left to suffer until I can get this mess sorted out. Having just started a new job, this is the worst time to be going through this and I hope there is a special place in hell for all the fuckers at CVS who have repeatedly fucked me over. I am lodging a formal complaint with the pharmacist board. I have had enough. Meanwhile you fucktards whine about corporate pressure and how horrible it is. Then fucking quit! I can't quit my pain! Stop bitching and take ownership of your actions. Jesus Christ what a bunch of whiny fucking babies you all are . . .

Actually it was the answer I wanted to make sure everyone saw. Here goes:

Dear Whiny Douchebag:

Imagine you just got a letter from your insurance company about your tramadol coverage, and in it it said for you to get any more refills, you had to suck my dick. I bet you'd be all like "No way!! You guys can go to hell!" Right? Or at least something similar.

At least I hope so, 'cause I'm not getting any kind of hot chick vibe from your writing style.

Now, let's say I came to you and said for $15 a month, I'll tap you with a magic wand that will make sure your pain is under control and you will never have to go through tramadol withdrawal ever again. Assuming you're not a liar, (Many, many people with these type of stories are.) I bet you'd say something like "Wow! tramadol withdrawal sucks so bad, and I have this new job now with some dough coming in, and I work better when I'm not in pain, That's a bargain!! Sign me up!"

Well guess what Mr. Whineyfuck, this is your lucky day. because I am about to give you a clue as to how you should have been able to solve your problems all along.

I brought up my first point to show you that there is no law that says you have to do what your insurance company says. You wouldn't (I hope) suck my dick to get your tramadol, and you don't have to go to a pharmacy run by incompetent clowns. I'm not about to defend CVS here. The obsession with short staffing that permeates the chain drug world ensures that many people go through your type of experience.

Notice I said chain drug world, which means I wouldn't count on your Walgreen's being any better.

So what's a hurtin' tramdol dependent dude supposed to do? That's my second point. If you came into my place, I'd have you fixed up in about 5 minutes. Ten tops. And I'd charge you around $15 dollars a month without your insurance. If I happened to be in your fucky company's network, it'd be even less.

I'd also tell you the maximum dose of tramadol is 8 tablets a day, so your doctor kinda fucked you if he really did make out a prescription for 1 to 2 tablets every 4 hours. Do the math.

Which brings us to our conclusion. I'm not sure why I have to tell you this, but you don't have to be your insurance company's little bitch boy. Take some ownership of your own life, get your head out of your ass, and find yourself a real pharmacy. It'll cost you less than a Jackson. And if avoiding a life of pain and withdrawal isn't worth that much to you, then you'll get no sympathy from me.

You're welcome asswipe.

The Makers Of Dulcolax See Your Ass As A Penitentiary, And Their Mission As A Humanitarian One.

This, my friends, is an actual ad for the actual laxative Dulcolax, which ran in newspapers and bus stations in Singapore.

I am not making this up. There sit a pack of imprisoned turds, marking time around your asshole until they are, as the text in the corner says, set free by you.

"Well I should start shitting right away" you're probably thinking. My turds have done no crime, and therefore don't deserve to be doing time."

Not so fast there bubs, let me tell you what's gonna happen to those poor turds once that Dulcolax kicks in. It's a stimulant laxative, you see, and in this case, what's stimulated is the smooth muscle of the large intestine.

Which means those poor turds are gonna get crushed as the walls of their prison close in around them. Crushed until there is enough pressure to force them out of that little asshole in the floor. Look at the size of that asshole and look at the size of the turds. It ain't gonna be pretty.

I am going to go to bed now, but not before I say a little prayer for my turds. They are in for an ordeal the torturous quality of which I cannot even imagine.

Godspeed to you, innocent shit.

An Ethical Dilemma.

So, let's say one day you're on the road and your baby starts to come down with a cold. And you, the master of all things pharmaceutical, know exactly what product to get to relieve her suffering. Unfortunately, the only place that seems to carry the product to help the woman you love is an outlet of a certain chain drugstore. A chain you're very familiar with. A chain you used to work for. A chain with whom your association did not end well. This leads to quite the dilemma indeed. Namely...

...do you stuff the product in your right or left coat pocket before you walk out the door?  I went with left, but something tells me right is the proper protocol in these situations.  

From The "Someone Couldn't Afford Their Abilify" File

An actual comment just zapped to the email box. Completely unedited.

All pharmacists r murderers plain as that the antidepressants the barium drinks for upper and lower gi they know what's in that stuff they r like the nazis just following orders i call them murderers to thier faces traitors to humanity the nerve of killers acting like birth control is the issue also old dictionary says its witchcraft

I want a copy of that old dictionary. I have a feeling the way to get it involves eating mushrooms or something though.

Pharmacy Jesus Encounters A False Prophet

A few posts ago I promised you an explanation of the evidence of my raw sexuality that showed up in my email box awhile back, a long while back really. I kinda feel bad for keeping you hanging for so long, but just remember, you get what you pay for in this here blog. You want to see me meet deadlines, then go read the words I cough up for dollars.

Which speaking of by the way, you won't be able to do in March. Seems like the magazine needed the space for an advertiser. Dammit. He who lives by the money sword dies by the money sword.

At any rate, this is a tale of caution. A reminder to watch your back out there. All women of virtue be forewarned, as there are those roaming about that would stop at nothing to take advantage of the pure animal magnetism I unleash, as evidenced  by this note from the mailbag:

Hi! I'm a waitress at a bar. Been following your blog for a while now even though it has like zero relevance to my life and been a big fan.

Question is, a few customers came in the night before. One of them was a pharmacist and he gave me his business card...proof he was. We got to talking about pharmacist rant blogs. I mentioned drugmonkey and he said he was drugmonkey...so is it true? Was that you, or some anonymous pharmacist trying to play me? 

From,
A skeptical waitress

I swear I did not make this up. There's at least one dude out there trying to ride on my coattails. One very smart dude I might add. Because I can't imagine anything sexier than being a member of the world's dorkiest profession and then writing about it in your pj's in front of your computer at night. Well played Mr. Drugmonkey wannabe, well played. There just might be someone out there getting more tail off this blog than the man who actually writes it.

Just don't say you weren't warned ladies.

I Just Now Decided This Song Pisses Me Off.

Remember that piña colada song? (And I know you do if you're of a certain age) How dumb do they think we are? They both went into a bar ready to cheat on their spouse and then just said "Ha ha....silly us"

Really?

I call bullshit. They immediately got into a screaming match, and at the very least ended up in couples therapy, if not far worse. I wouldn't be at all surprised if one of them ended up dead.

Stupid song.

I probably need more to do tonight.







OK wait.....one more thing. What's with the horrible lip syncing? We were expected to believe this? Seriously? Were people just dumber back then or what?

Jusus, I think I need to go to bed.

My Annual Heartfelt Tribute To The Christmas Spirit.

Original blogpost airdate, December 28, 2009. Also can be found in my awesome book, perfect as a Christmas gift to appease that son of god prick. Still time to order now for X-mas delivery. 


You know, for someone who professes to love us all, you'd think that maybe the thought our time could be worth a little something might enter Jesus' skull once or twice. That maybe Jesus could tell us, "You know, there's no need to go all out for my birthday. Really. Me and my Dad, the all knowing, omnipotent creator of universes known and unknown, the Deity that can part seas with his breath, move mountains with his pinky and knows the exact number of hairs on your head, I'm sure we'll come up with something. Don't put yourself out just on my account."

"And there is really no need to invent The Clapper to sell in the season of my special day. You work too hard for your money."

That's what my Uncle Harold would say. Uncle Harold always insisted we never make a big deal about his birthday, because that was just the kind of guy Harold was. Unlike this prick Jesus who pretty much ruined my whole week with this Christmas shit.

And by whole week I mean entire month of December. And part of November as well. Traffic gets backed up because of a goddamn parade. People everywhere I want to shop. A big pile of pine trees right where I normally park my car at work. All because this savior of mankind lets it go straight to his head.

I got news for you Jesus. I once saved the life of a mouse we found in the backroom of the store. That's right. Instead of killing it, I captured the little guy and let him loose in the woods in back of the mall. And I don't expect the mouse to buy shit every year for my birthday either. I think maybe I could teach you a thing or two about humility Mr. Son of God.

The sad thing is it's not just me that gets screwed. The entire goddamn planet has to put their lives on hold just for Jesus every year. Fuck it makes me so mad. I got over birthdays when I was like 9, and Jesus still gets all giddy like a girl after 2000 of them? Give me a break.

Buddhism looks better every day. No wonder there are so many Buddhists.

A Random Tribute To The Era Of Flower Power

Peace, love, happiness, and standing up to the man. The 60's had it all my friends. Free love, acid, Woodstock, and political conventions that were far more than week long informercials.

It wasn't all groovy vibes, art, and music though. It seems like every major band of the era had a member that didn't make it. Keith Moon of The Who, Brian Jones of The Stones......

Actually, maybe only two major bands of the era had a member that didn't make it. And Keith Moon lasted until 1978.

Never mind.

From The Mailbag, Five Years Later, A Guess As Good As Any

Hardcore fans of the Drugmonkey will remember the Christmas present that baffled me. I wrote about it in the blog a few years back and included a chapter on it in my awesome book. In short, a customer who used to drop off little Christmas presents every year once gave me a manicure set. A mystery manicure set. It didn't come with instructions you see, and while some parts of it were self explanatory enough, there were some utensils that completely stumped this college graduate and Mensa member. Here's a picture of the mystery implements:

Many things have changed since I wrote that original post. I escaped chain "pharmacy" hell and became a responsible business owner. I moved from the liberal bastion of Coastal California into the embrace of the Sierras, I met and will soon marry the most awesomest woman on the planet.

But I still have no idea what these things are. Not a clue. And I'm still worried that customer gave them to me to correct some hygiene or grooming problem that makes me less than smokin' hot.

The other day though, I got this in my mailbox:

Hello, 

My name is Xxxxxx. I’ve been in the Navy for about 3 and a half years, and close to the time of me getting out, I have taken an interest in pharmacy. Looking up various books about the field, I found your book entitled “Why Your Prescription Takes So Damn Long to Fill.” I’m still reading it, although so far I’ve enjoyed it. Although I am no doctor, I can relate to dealing with the stupidity of the general public in retail. In regards to the mysterious tools in the manicure set, the one to the far right with the split pieces of metal, I’d say it was something used to stick inside a dick hole, and the pieces of metal keep the hole in the meat helmet spread open and stay open, maybe allowing an easier going STD test. That’s my best guess. Hopefully I could help.

Yes Mr. X.,  help you did indeed. Because that's the most plausible suggestion I've had to date. Which means now I can worry that I give off the appearance of a syphilis-wrecked shell of a man in desperate need of help. That's way better than just thinking I might be less than the ultimate piece of man meat.

I hope my fiancee' doesn't see this.

Nation Prepares For The Annual Running Of The Tools.

Blogpost original air date, November 24, 2011


BETONVILLE, AR- From the small town Sears to major shopping destinations in cities around the country, excitement filled the air today as millions readied themselves for the start of the annual shopping season that begins tonight with the Running of The Tools. This years Tool Run is expected to begin as early as midnight at retailers in all 50 states, as dullards of every stripe gather to test their mettle in competition with what passes for human beings these days in an effort to score a discounted price on electronics, clothing, toys, and other miscellaneous crap that will most likely end up in a landfill within a year.

"We used to call it the running of the sheeple" said Wal-Mart Vice President Johnnie C. Dobbs. "but then we realized that sheep, unlike the crowds of barbarians that gather in front of our stores every year, very rarely get violent when crammed together in large herds."

Dobbs then climbed to the top of corporate headquarters and tossed 10 vouchers good for $100 off any laptop computer to the crowd below "just to give them a little taste of blood" One person's eyes were gouged out in the resulting melee.

While the precise origin of The Running of The Tools is unclear, archaeological research indicates it may have begun as part of a ritual of giving thanks for the sweatshop laborers whose work producing plastic disposable trinkets makes it possible for Americans to maintain a standard of living unmatched in the history of humanity.

Actually, "living" is probably the wrong word to use there.

In that spirit of thanks, Tool Run participants across the country this year will pause for a moment of silence to honor Jdimytai Damour, the Wal-Mart employee trampled to death under a frenzied crowd of Tools desperate to get rid of their money in 2008.

Not really. There will be absolutely no recognition of what happened to Mr. Damour tonight. Except possibly among the people who loved him.

"Unless you come from the dark place inhabited by these people's souls, the significance of the Tool Running can be hard to understand" said Dr. Glen Nealon, author of GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT DVD PLAYER!! Tools And The Ascension Of Consumption As The Basis Of The Modern Economy "In the absence of meaningful relationships based on caring and consideration, worthy cultural outlets, or any other type of intellectual stimulation, the life of a Tool soon devolves into a search for meaning through competition for material symbols of status, and they are willing to risk almost anything to fill the vast void of nothingness that is their existence."

"HOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!! I'M GONNA GET ME A PLAY STATION FOR SEVENTY-FIVE BUCKS!!!!!" said local Tool Jacob Hatfield, who said he had been waiting in front of a Target store for 36 hours. He also added that if we even thought about barging in line in front of him, we could expect to be cut.

Reached in the eternal glory that is heaven, the almighty Jesus sobbed softly when asked for comment.

I Was Fascinated By This Picture For A Long Time. Then I Figured It Out.

Look at it. Seriously, take a good hard look:

What is up with that face? I've...never seen an expression like this. Is it...

Fear? The eyes don't really give off a fearful vibe.

The mouth. It's perfectly straight. Not the slightest hint of smile or frown. I don't think I've ever seen anyone pull this off while showing teeth.

It is fear. Not in him, but in me. The longer I look at this humanesque...creature? The more frightened I become.

I just tried to mimic this expression in front of the mirror for five minutes and couldn't pull it off.

WHAT IS THIS MAN'S STORY?

For awhile I thought it would be the face one might make while undergoing a prostate exam. You don't want it to look like it's painful...but honestly, you really don't want to give the appearance of pleasure either. I've heard prostate massage can be pretty hot but you wouldn't tip the medical staff to that kind of thing I wouldn't think

And, why the suit? Wait. That's my clue. The suit. I was closer when I guessed "zombie" than I realized.

A little closer inspection told me I was looking at Jason Rubin, senior manager of immunization services for Walgreen's Corp. If you're plugging away at the corner of healthy and happy this is the man cracking the whip to make sure you hit that flu shot quota.

And this, I bet, is what he looks like when he is having his metrics read to him by his boss. Right after the soul leaves his body.

The numbed-out from the inside corporate drone. It's been so long I'd almost forgotten. This picture captures it perfectly.

Poor Jason. I fear him no longer.

I Will Warn You. This Post Contains The Words "Used Enemas" And "Reshelved By CVS Workers"

So....why don't we just get right to the down and dirty. Via thesmokinggun.com and brought to my attention by an alert reader:

OCTOBER 11--A Florida man has been indicted on a federal product tampering charge for allegedly returning used enemas to the shelves of the CVS pharmacy where he purchased the items. 

Ronald Eugene Robinson is accused in an indictment unsealed today in U.S. District Court in Jacksonville.

Notice the dateline. October 11th. Today.

According to prosecutors, Robinson bought several “pre-packaged CVS Pharmacy Ready-to-Use enemas” between April and June of this year. After using the enemas, he placed them back into their boxes, resealed the containers, and returned the products for refunds.

I will draw your attention to the words "bought" and "between April and June"

The used enemas, reshelved by CVS workers, were subsequently sold to unsuspecting customers...“It is believed that all customers have been notified of the tainted purchases,” Department of Justice prosecutors said in a press release issued today.

They....had to be notified? I give someone the Watson Somas instead of  Qualitest and I'll hear about it in under five minutes, but....someone gets shit on a stick...and just sits passively around until someone calls?

Just to remove any doubt:

An analysis of the used products revealed that, “fecal matter was located on some of the returned enema bottles

"Well gosh....I seem to have lost the receipt. I guess I'm just out of luck."

Or would that be "shit out of luck"....bwwwaaaahhhaahhhaaa....

But let's get back to the words "between April and June," because the indictment included with that web story clearly states that the suspect was arrested for buying and returning enemas on June 5th. The inducement also states that this was the fourth time he had done this, which aroused the suspicions of the ever alert CVS staff.

He got away with it three times. At least. I'm going to go try and wash out my eyeballs now.

Random Thoughts From The 55th Monterey Jazz Festival.

The thing about jazz is that it's so...inefficient. This guy plays, then that guy plays, then a third one plays, it seems like if they'd just play together more often we could save a lot of time and maybe get this festival in on one day.

Ha ha.....kidding of course, but we all know that's exactly the type of thinking that'll happen when the corporations start to control the arts. Which is why my heart did a little happy dance when I saw the Best Buy tent had been replaced by one from Amoeba Music. Amoeba is awesome and if you are in Berkeley or San Francisco or Hollywood you need to stop reading this now and go check them out.  I scored a cherry vinyl copy of Miles Davis' "Bitches Brew," the seminal album that essentially invented jazz fusion. Contrast this with last time I was here when the Best Buy tent featured a giant ass display plugging the Beatles and "Guitar Hero." Which is exactly why you'd go to a jazzfest. To play a video game to the tune of "Yellow Submarine." I felt the grooves of Miles in my hands and knew that things were looking up.

That night I saw Tony Bennett, who reiterated a lesson first taught to me by Johnny Cash. Stay authentic to who you are. Cash and Bennett were both about as uncool as a person could get in the 70's, and both faced pressure from their record labels to become more "marketable." Neither did, and both ended their careers as cultural treasures and with their pride intact. For a counterpoint, look at Kenny Rogers. Kenny Rogers is a sad, sad man in many ways.

Anyway, Tony Bennett was really good. That's what I'm trying to say. I hope he made it up to San Francisco and maybe found his heart again.

Earlier in the day it was Trombone Shorty.

Let me tell you one thing about Trombone Shorty. You will like Trombone Shorty. You will not have a choice. Trombone Shorty's music will grab you by the nads and scream at you. "YOU WILL LIKE ME BITCH!!! WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER????"

And then you'll be all like, "Dude, no need to get all abusive on my testicles, you're fucking awesome."

Whereupon the music will say "Yeah, that's what I thought. Now listen to me school this muthafuckin' trombone"

Next thing you know it's an hour later and your ears are like, "Holy hell we may never have an experience like this ever again."

Click here for a tiny taste of what Trombone Shorty can do, but protect your testicles. 

If Trombone Shorty is music on fire, than the next day Esperanza Spalding was the cool soothing relief of relaxation. I saw her her a couple years ago, during the Best Buy days, and she was great, but I got the sense she was still, to some extent, proving herself to the industry. Her beautiful Afro was tied back, and it felt like she was still trying to please the normies a bit. A few months later she won her Grammy and the power that comes with it. This year the Afro was free and in all its glory. She was confident and sexy and leading us to where she wanted to go. Even an incredibly intrusive interruption by the Thunderbirds or The Blue Angels or whichever one of those jet fighter penis extensions in the sky our government puts up there to help recruit the next generation of thugs to enforce the will of the empire couldn't shit on Esperanza's parade. When they were gone I stood up, closed my eyes and put my hands in the air, felt the cool breeze in my face and the sounds of a strong woman descended from people the empire once held in slavery in my ear. It's a moment I never want to forget.

By the time I got over to the Amoeba Records tent, the line for an Esperanza autograph was hopelessly long, but I snuck around and snapped some pictures, which might put me somewhere on the stalker scale:

And just for shits and giggles, here's a random kid who seemed to be enjoying the festival:

There were other acts of course, the band of kids I suspected to be from some church-type organization that kicked ass, although I think they'd rather I say they played really well. The Norwegian fiddler, which sounds like some sort of oxymoron, the talented Meklit Hadero, who had the misfortune of being booked on an outdoor stage at night when the temperature was something like minus a hundred and ten degrees. There was Kettle Corn and Cajun food and so much fun I didn't even touch any alcohol. The last band I saw was called Ninety Miles, named after the political distance that separates its members, who are both Cuban and American. They wrapped me in a warm blanket of jazz for the long, cold walk home, told us of their performances in Cuba, and left me with hope that Best Buy would never, ever, be back.

It was a good weekend.

Random Video That I Found Entertaining At 2 In The Morning. We'll See If It Holds Up In The Light Of Day.

Tales Of The Jobless Life, Part One

Tomorrow's gonna be when the fecal material hits the fan. Two deadlines to meet on Friday and tomorrow's gonna be my last chance to throw up some good work. That's what writing feels like by the way, like when you know you're gonna throw up sometime today, but aren't really sure when.

Then.....all the sudden it vomits up...messy words splattering all over the place while you struggle to get them at least near to where they should be deposited. Then all you gotta do is spend a lot of time cleaning them up and you got you some writing work done. Anyway, I gotta throw up twice by Friday.

Today though, I had a Momsitting gig. Some of you may remember my dear friend who is caring for her mother with Alzheimer's. My current joblessness is a bit of a blessing for her, seeing as how she needs occasional time to run errands and catch up on life stuff and just de-stress a little for a few hours.

She needs occasional time and I have time in abundance. Pretty much a classic win win.

So today's idea was to teach Mom a card game. In particular, "war." For those of you not familiar, I'll tell you it's the simplest card game on the face of the earth. You throw down a card, then your opponent throws down a card, and the highest card wins. If you both throw down a card of equal value, war is declared, consisting of two cards face down and one face up, and the highest one wins the whole pile. This continues until someone is out of cards.

Again, pretty much the simplest game on planet earth. And I lost. Every time.

After awhile I started to be pretty sure I was giving Mom credit for hands that I had actually won. Which would be a sweet thing to do, if I were doing it on purpose. I wasn't. Today I was outsmarted at the easiest card game imaginable by an elderly woman with severe dementia.

I'm chasing my first serious job lead since Rite Aid's asshatery. And I'm hoping, mostly for my own mental health, that it might lead somewhere.

These Are Tough Times For Soft Drinks.

Losing market share to juices and bottled water. Catching shit from the liberals over the explosion of obesity in this country, people catching on that no matter how many versions of Mountain Dew hit the shelves, it's all just fizzy sugar water.

"But at least I'm FIZZY!" I bet the soda thinks. "At least I have SUGAR! People are passing me up for friggin plain water in a bottle! All these educated, affluent assholes who think they care so much about the environment are paying money for water in a plastic bottle that will take a million years to decay. They not only walk past the drinking fountain, but right past me, who would at least give them some flavor and some caffeine for their money"

It's enough to drive a can of Coca-Cola to drink. Except:

I think I heard the Coca-Cola softly sobbing next to the convenience store door today. Quietly asking the old man going in if he could pay him to buy some beer.