Michael Kindt's Blog, page 43

July 9, 2016

July 7, 2016

Road Head

I used to have this girlfriend. Let’s call her Mandy. She was my first real super serious girlfriend. We started going out in high school and just kept going and going. A month or two after graduation, we moved in together.

Living in sin, they call it.

We had a cute little house out on Harbach Lane with a real live wood stove and everything. We got a couple dogs, a cat. Happy times.

For work, I was a line cook in a greasy spoon restaurant, making barely above minimum wage–early 90s minimum wage, mind you, which was like $4.95 or some ridiculous shit. Mandy, on the other hand, worked as a nurse’s aide in a hospital for the developmentally disabled. She made more than twice as much as I did.

This didn’t bother me or “threaten” my precious masculinity. I had been raised entirely by women. I had my mom and sister and aunt and grandma. All the men had run off or died, as men do. There were occasional uncles, but for the most part while growing up it was just me and the ladies.

I hated my job. It sucked total ass. My boss was a cretin, the people I worked with utter dipshits. Every day that I drug my hairy ass to work was another day closer to death.

One day, I had a better idea. I would quit and let Mandy support me. She made enough money for both of us so why the fuck was I working? I called up the greasy spoon and told them I was out.

“Guess what?” I told Mandy when she got home that evening.

“What?”

“I quit my job.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Didn’t like it.”

“I knew that.”

“So, yeah.”

“So where you gonna look?”

“Look for what?”

“Another job.”

“I don’t think I’d like another job.”

“But…” She raised her left eyebrow, which she did whenever she was confused or doubtful. It was one of the little things I found adorable about her. “But…What are you saying?”

Suffice it to say, she was not all that enamored with the idea. She knew me, though, knew I was mercurial, flaky. Deep down inside, I think she thought I would snap out of it.

Boy, was she wrong.

We continued on for another month, me not working and her supporting us. It was perfect. It was like being on welfare, only you got to fuck the government three or four times a week.

“Seriously,” she said to me after about six weeks or so, “you’re not going to look for another job?”

“Why would I?”

For some strange reason, our relationship began to go downhill. We fought more, gave each other the silent treatment. She copped this whole attitude. I told her I’d be a house husband, just like they have on tv and in magazines. I’d cook for her, keep the house up, even mow the lawn (speaking of developmentally diasabled), but I never really got around to any of those things, busy as I was getting drunk on the couch and listening to the Velvet Underground.

Then one day, for some bizarre reason, she threw me out.

Initially, I was devastated, playing ‘Losing My Religion’ over and over, but I eventually embraced homelessness. I got like eight stories out of it, anyway.

After she left me, she started dating this guy with a job, Rob.

Rob with a job. Do you know Rob? He has a job. Rob with a job.

He had a truck, too, and liked to drive around drunk. His watering hole was in Hill City, about 14 miles to the north. One night, on the way back from drinking, Mandy went down on him and he crashed into a tree. He got a DWI, but Mandy got hurt.

To this day, she limps. Also, she texts.

Should I answer?

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Published on July 07, 2016 09:56

July 6, 2016

Of which I am a proud member – I think, anyway. I may have...



Of which I am a proud member – I think, anyway. I may have let my dues lapse.

$6.95 a year is a lotta coin.

The Latest Report

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Published on July 06, 2016 11:05

July 5, 2016

4th of July Weekend Spa Getaway Starring Yours Truly and The Nutty Professor

While others were hanging out in backyards eating brats and noodle salad, I was ensconced in the Potato Creek Spa & Salon over in Jackson County near Kadoka. Everything I did there was completely new. I have never had a seaweed wrap before and now I can say that I have. I have never had a mud bath before and never will again. I had facials of the non-porn variety and relaxed with cucumber slices on my eyes, which made me hungry for salad which was ok because that’s all there was on the menu. I had one half of a manipedi because the girl screamed and fainted when she saw my feet, which I often do myself.

It was quite the delightful time, overall, I must say.

The best part, if you ask me, were the massages. I got dozens of them. Tara, the masseuse there at Potato Creek, had firm but gentle hands, and also possessed many of the other qualities prized by the superficial male. “Again?” she would say as I came up to her wearing nothing but my fluffy American flag beach towel. I tell you, I made that girl work for her money.

In the lounge where Enya drifted from hidden speakers and incense perfumed the air, I met a college professor who taught forensics, which is the use of science in crime-solving.

“Did you ever work in the field?” I asked him.

“For over 15 years. Mainly in Minneapolis, but also for a few years in Milwaukee.”

“What was your weirdest case?”

“About 1997, a homeless person found a human leg in an alley. This was in Minneapolis, in a rough part of the city. It was an entire leg, separated from the body at the hip. Finding body parts isn’t all that unusual in forensics work, but there was something really strange about this leg.”

I moved to the edge of my seat. “Yeah? What was that?”

“Well, when I examined it, I determined that the leg hadn’t been cut from the body, but torn. Ripped. Yanked right out of the hip socket. I had confirmation of this not only from the nature of the wound, but also around the ankle, where bruising showed a handprint. All indications showed someone had gripped the leg around the ankle and literally tore it from the body. Obviously, a very strong someone, and someone with a very large hand.”

“Jesus H. Christ. Was it ever solved?”

“Nope. No body turned up or guy missing a leg–the leg was from a male, by the way. Frankly, if the guy hadn’t gotten immediate medical care, there is probably no way he could’ve survived. He would’ve bled to death or died from shock. Nothing else was ever found. No tips came in. Nothing. It was just a leg torn out off a body laying in an alley, found by a homeless person.”

“Wow.”

The whole conversation was very odd, what with Enya haunting the background and Rain Forest At Dusk® filling my nostrils. I asked him how he liked teaching and why he made the change.

“I love teaching. Wish I would’ve switched earlier. I wanted regular hours, regular vacations. Plus, it’s just plain easier. My wife, God rest her soul, loved it when I went to teaching. It was a definite boon to my marriage.”

When he said “God rest her soul”, he crossed himself, ala Catholicism.

“You lost your wife?” I asked.

“Yeah. Three years ago to breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged.

There was a silence between us for a moment, then suddenly he smiled.

“In one of my advanced classes, I really like to mess with my students.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s an introductory to autopsy class and what I do, basically, is dissect a human body right in front of them. For most of them, it’s the first time they get down and dirty with forensics. They’re all raised on those CSI shows, where everybody’s pretty and the guts don’t show.”

“CSI: Akron is my favorite,” I told him.

“I’m not familiar with that one.”

“I was just kidding.”

“Oh.” He went and got another cup of free trade vegan organic cage-free decaffeinated gluten-free coffee. “Anyway, I’m standing up there in front of the class with a cadaver on the table. I have my implements of destruction. There’s a drain. There’s always a drain. All the little CSI kids are skittish. Probably the first dead body they’ve ever seen, at least a nude and grayish-blue one. You know, rigor mortis causes an erection?”

“I totally knew that.”

“You did?”

“No.”

“Well, it does. Big time. Anyway, maybe they’ve seen Grandma all made up in a nice dress in a nice comfy coffin, but there’s really nothing nice about death.”

“I’ve seen dead people before,” I told him. “I agree with you completely.”

“So this is on the first day of class and the cadaver is there before me on the table, nude, and I say ‘So you want go into forensics, huh? Well, you’re going to need a very strong stomach.’ I take my hand, my ungloved hand, mind you, point to the sky and then ram my index finger right up the cadaver’s anus. I then pull it back out and lick it.”

“Oh my fucking God, are you serious?” I stood up from my pink plastic chair and backed away a little.

“Dead serious,” he said and snorted.

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“After all the screams and retching die down, I say, ‘Who among you has the stomach to come forward and do the same? Break down that barrier between life and death. You will be working intimately with death. Prove to me that you can. Whoever comes forward and does the same, I will guarantee a B for the class. You won’t even have to show up again.’ Every semester, someone comes up and does it. Usually, a frat guy type. When he’s done it and has finished vomiting in the trash can next to my desk, I say, 'Forensics requires nerves of steel, not to mention a stomach of steel. It also requires keen observation. For example, how many of you noticed that I thrust my index finger up the cadaver’s anus, but licked my middle finger?’ At this point, the frat guy usually faints, which is ok because I always have paramedics standing by backstage.”

I backed a little farther away. “What in God’s name is wrong with you?”

“I’m a forensics professor.” He shrugged.

“So you give out a free B every semester? Why not an A+ for fucks sake? I’d say it’s deserved.”

“Nah, I’m kidding about that part. I usually end up flunking them because they think they’ve got a free pass and don’t come to class.”

“You’re a monster,” I said.

“I know,” he said, and laughed and laughed.

But overall, yeah, it was a pretty delightful weekend.

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Published on July 05, 2016 19:18

Photo



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Published on July 05, 2016 12:29

July 4, 2016

Hillary is advertising on Tumblr?

Isn’t that redundant?

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Published on July 04, 2016 16:20

July 1, 2016

American journalist and war correspondent, Ernie Pyle (center),...



American journalist and war correspondent, Ernie Pyle (center), talks with the crew of a Sherman tank belonging to the 191st Tank Battalion at the Anzio Beachhead in 1944.

At the outbreak of WWII, Ernie Pyle took his journalistic talents to the battlefields of Europe and the Pacific as a war correspondent. His intimate focus on the common soldier and his reporting of their experiences and perspective stood out from the crowd of most journalists covering WWII. Pyle wrote about the ‘grunt’ while others were reporting on the actions of generals and battle plans. It was this approach to war correspondence that earned Pyle his Pulitzer Prize in 1944.

A column written by Ernie Pyle in 1944 urging that common soldiers earn a fair fighting wage for their service helped convince Congress to pass a law authorizing an additional $10 for infantrymen. Basically, he conceived of and was instrumental in creating what today is known as 'combat pay’. Due to his pivotal role in securing this wage increase it was dubbed ‘the Ernie Pyle bill’.

Despite all this, there is not enough money in the entire Universe to pay these men and women appropriately. A humble thank you is all that I can offer.

Ernie was killed by enemy fire on the island of Iejima, often Anglicized as Leshima, near Okinawa on April 18th, 1945. He is a literary hero of mine and I urge you to read him.

The pen may indeed be mightier than the sword, but sometimes the two must work together.

Everybody have a happy 4th of July!

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Published on July 01, 2016 08:15

I will be going dark and offline for a several days due to the holiday. Love you guys and have a good 4th!

I have one more celebratory post which I’ll Q in a bit and then I’m out.

Cheers!

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Published on July 01, 2016 07:17

early-onset-of-night:

Reinstate Pete Rose! (Pretend he only...



early-onset-of-night:



Reinstate Pete Rose! (Pretend he only beat up his wife or toddler or tortured dogs or something).




I will do this every season. Goddamn it.

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Published on July 01, 2016 05:22